Tempest
by PsandQs
Summary: Harry receives an unexpected visitor with a remarkable story to tell. Is it a lie, or is there truth to the tale of a ghost from the past that poses a grave threat to national security, but who could also return to Harry that which he desires most of all?
1. Chapter 1

_19 June 2012, late evening  
Harry's house, London_

The car pulled up outside his door and Harry got out wearily with a brief 'Good night' to his driver. The young man watched him walk off with concern. He couldn't help but wonder what Sir Harry did with himself in the evenings, especially after Miss Evershed's death. Not that he'd had a particularly lively social life before, but at least there had always been the promise of one. Now, though, that was all lost. As was a certain spark from Sir Harry who obviously still mourned her deeply. Before, he would sometimes make a caustic or funny comment about something they passed in the street, or about a newspaper headline. He'd occasionally enquire about his drivers' families, and once he even gave the young man a present for his little girl. But not any more. Now, it seemed, all Sir Harry's energy went into self-control, and he seldom showed any emotion. He was a man in emotional lock-down. The young man sighed, put the car into gear and drove away, back to his own life that seemed so much fuller in comparison.

Harry closed his front door behind him with relief. Ever since Ruth's death his house had become a refuge – the only place where he didn't feel under constant scrutiny from well-meaning colleagues. He put down his keys and for the first time that day allowed his thoughts free rein. _Three months_. Ruth had been dead for three months. He had read somewhere that it took the average person two years to truly get over the death of a loved one. So, one year and nine months to go. He wondered bleakly whether the crushing weight in his chest would be with him for all that time. He wasn't sure he could survive that. Her words came back to him, unbidden: _Can't go on, must go on_. He grunted irritably and took off his coat. This wasn't helping; he needed to stop thinking about her. It was as he hung up the garment that he became aware that something was different.

There was a subtle change in the density of the molecules in the air, a trace of an unknown smell. Someone was in his house. He hung up his coat slowly, weighing the different options available to him. Leave again quietly, or confront them. That pretty much seemed the only choices. But if someone were here to kill him, he reasoned, they would have shot him the moment he walked through the door. _Might as well hear what they want_, he decided and strolled into the living area and headed straight for the drinks tray. He poured himself a generous measure, all the time feeling the prickle of the gaze of the intruder between his shoulder blades. Eventually he turned around to find, of all people, Sasha Gavrik once again sitting at his dining table. The man who had stabbed Ruth was sitting in his house and a hot spear of anger momentarily blinded him. It took all his self-control not to let his feelings show, and Harry watched the boy without any flicker of outward emotion as he took a large sip of the Scotch.  
"Déjà vu," he commented, to no-one in particular. Except for the gun, he noticed. This time Sasha did not have a gun in his hand.  
"Hello, Harry," the Russian said, observing the older man warily as he made his way over and sat opposite him at the table, cognisant of the fury and desolation that had filled those brown eyes the last time he'd looked into them.  
"The agreement was that you and Ilya were never to come near me again," Harry said tonelessly. "I told you that if you did, I will kill you."  
The matter of fact nature of the statement made it all the more chilling, and Sasha had no doubt that Harry meant it.  
He gave a pained smile. "If you did, you would do me a favour. It would be a relief from this torment I have to live with."  
Harry's eyes darkened. "I don't give a damn about your torment." He tossed back the rest of the Scotch and looked at Sasha mockingly. "You're in the wrong business if you can't cope with a few deaths."  
The callousness of the comment shocked Sasha; made him wonder at the damage the events of that day had done to the man opposite him. He nodded slowly. "I actually agree with you. That's why I no longer work for the FSB. I am not willing to pay the price it asks."  
Harry got up and refilled his glass before he sat back down. He didn't offer Sasha any. "That must have disappointed your father," he remarked coldly, and Sasha was reminded that this man had for many years believed that Elena's child was his son. He pushed the thought away and said flatly, "I don't have a father."

Harry's eyes lifted to Sasha then. He couldn't help but feel a flash of kinship, of genuine compassion for Ilya Gavrik – he knew from bitter personal experience the pain of being disowned by one's children. It was something he didn't wish on the man who for so many years he had regarded as a sworn enemy. But before he could dwell on these thoughts, Sasha spoke again.  
"I never meant to kill Ruth, Harry-"  
The gun being cocked echoed loudly through the sudden silence.  
Sasha had no idea where it had come from, but suddenly he found himself staring down the round black hole of a barrel. It was aimed at him unerringly, and he instinctively lifted his hands into the air.  
"I'm not interested in your excuses, boy. Get out now," Harry said with deadly intent.  
Sasha swallowed hard; the conviction in the eyes behind the gun left him in no doubt that he was on borrowed time.  
"All right, I'll go. But before I do, I have something to tell you – something that I know will be of great interest to you."  
Harry's finger tightened momentarily on the trigger and the blood drained from Sasha's face. Then Harry took a breath and removed his finger from the trigger. Perhaps it was the naked fear in the young man's expression that swayed him, or perhaps it was his natural curiosity about what Sasha had to say. He didn't particularly care what his motivation was for giving the reprieve.  
"Spit it out, then." The gun remained on Sasha unwaveringly.

Sasha cleared his throat nervously. "Just after I took Jim Coaver's laptop from R-, from her, and found out that you were supposedly my father, I was visited by a man. An Englishman. He said he was a former colleague of yours."  
Harry tilted his head. "Name?"  
Sasha smiled cynically. "He didn't give one, but he said that you had killed his brother many years ago, and that it was payback time."  
Harry's interest was now well and truly piqued, despite himself. "What did he want with you?"  
Sasha hesitated before he said, "He knew about my mother's involvement with Mikhail Levrov." The Russian shook his head and looked at Harry with a hint of confusion. "He knew _everything_, Harry."  
Harry frowned. "Did he say anything about you being my son, or not as the case may be?"  
"…He said my father was a murderer, a bad man. I simply assumed he meant you," Sasha responded candidly, and Harry blinked, surprised by the stab of hurt the words caused.  
Sasha continued, "In hindsight, he could also have referred to Ilya."  
Unwilling to get further involved in the similarities between himself and Ilya, Harry steered Sasha back to the subject at hand. "What else did this man say?"  
"He threatened to expose my mother's activities. He said she would be tried for treason and executed, unless I help him."  
"Help him do what, Sasha?"  
"He…gave me a syringe. I was to inject you with whatever was in there. You would appear to die, and he would kidnap your 'body' from the morgue and somehow revive you again." Sasha looked at him. "I believed him because I've seen it done."  
"So have I," Harry stated, thinking back to Ros.

They sat in silence as Harry processed the information.  
"Why didn't you?" he asked eventually.  
It took Sasha a moment to understand what Harry was asking. "I was going to, after my-, after Ilya killed my mother. But then…"  
"Ruth got in the way," Harry completed for him, his voice hoarse. "So you stabbed her instead."  
"I never meant to hurt her!" Sasha's voice was anguished, pleading, but Harry looked away, unwilling to grant the young man absolution quite so cheaply.  
Sasha reached across the table with his hands, ignoring the way the gun lifted fractionally to aim at his forehead. "But that's what I'm trying to tell you, Harry. I had the syringe hidden behind that shard of glass, and when she walked into it…"  
He watched Harry, who seemed to be struggling with the message the Russian was trying to convey.  
"But you did stab her," Harry countered, remembering the vivid red of her blood on his hand.  
"Yes, but I'm convinced it couldn't have been a fatal wound. Anatomically it just isn't possible."  
Harry smiled bitterly. "Or maybe that's what you want to believe, to assuage your guilt."  
Sasha closed his eyes against the pain in Harry's face. He once again lived through that split-second, when everything happened so fast. His surprise that the woman would step in front of Harry, would want to protect such a man. His almost instinctive lunge with the shard and the syringe, his thumb pressing on the plunger. He shook his head and said wearily, "Maybe. But I did inject her." He looked at Harry unwaveringly. "I am one hundred percent sure of that."

Deadly, oppressing silence reigned after Sasha's declaration. He watched Harry carefully, but the face betrayed nothing. The eyes, though… Behind those eyes a tempest raged. Sasha eyed the gun nervously, but it remained rock-steady.  
"What are you saying?" Harry asked after an eternity.  
"I'm saying that she could be alive, Harry. That's what I came here to tell you."  
_Easy_, Harry reminded himself savagely. _You have no reason to trust this boy. He blames you for the death of his mother_.  
"Even if you're telling the truth, which I'm not convinced of, the syringe would have held enough for a person of my size. The dosage would have killed her anyway."  
"…But I did not inject the full dose into her."  
"How convenient," Harry snapped, visibly tightening his grip on the gun. _It's too good to be true_, his rational side told him, valiantly fighting down the part of him that so desperately wanted to believe every word.  
Sasha held out his palms placatingly. "I'm going to take something out of my pocket."  
He waited until Harry nodded before he carefully reached into his pocket and removed a plastic bag, which he put down on the table between them. Inside was a syringe, half filled with a colourless liquid. And a shard of glass, its tip covered in old blood.

Harry stared at it, unable to comprehend what was happening. Tears sprung to his eyes unbidden and he blinked it away, unwilling to give Sasha the satisfaction of seeing him break down.  
"This is a trick," he forced out through tight lips. He lifted the gun slightly. "I think this is your revenge for your mother's death. Why else would you wait three months to tell me this?"  
Sasha said calmly, "So shoot me, and then go and do your tests on these." He gestured at the bag and its contents. "Ruth's DNA should be all over the shard." He paused. "And in the tip of the needle."  
The fatalism in his voice made Harry hesitate. He studied the boy carefully, but could find no trace that he was lying. But he was Elena's son, after all, and Ilya's. With those genes he should be able to lie beautifully. And yet…  
"Why now, Sasha?" Harry asked, his confusion evident.  
Sasha closed his eyes and smiled, and for a moment he was beautiful, and Harry was reminded how easily this boy could have been his.  
"Because it took me this long to accept what my mother was. And to identify the man who had approached me."  
He looked at Harry squarely. "His name is Johnny Marks, and he's somewhere in South America."  
Sasha got up, ignoring the gun, or perhaps simply not caring anymore. He stood and looked down at the older man with unhidden compassion. "Goodbye Harry. You won't ever see me again. But I hope that you find her. I hope that with all my heart."  
Without another word he walked out of the room and seconds later the front door closed softly behind him, and only then did Harry finally let the gun slip out of his fingers.

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

_Same night  
Harry's house, London_

Harry sat motionless, his eyes never leaving the bag and its contents on the table. He was in the grip of an all-encompassing paralysis, such as which he'd seldom encountered in his long career. His brain, it seemed, was incapable of processing what Sasha had said; unable, or perhaps unwilling, to compute the implications. He had worked so hard to compartmentalise any thoughts of her, and now he was struggling to reverse the process and analyse events properly.  
_Surely, it couldn't be_, his rational self insisted. _You saw her die, you held her for long minutes after – would you not have noticed? And there was so much blood…_  
And yet, his emotional self piped up, it had worked with Ros. Is it not possible-  
_But with Ros we controlled all the variables. We took her immediately after and ensured that she was stable until we could revive her_.  
What if Johnny Marks had done the same? He expected you to be picked up and brought to hospital, so maybe someone on that emergency team that had responded to the call was in on it_.  
And the coroner as well, I suppose?_

Harry blinked; things were bad if he were becoming acerbic with himself. If Sasha had intended to throw him into turmoil, to turn him into an ineffectual mass of skin and bone that couldn't think straight, he had certainly succeeded. It was that knowledge that decided him. He propelled himself to his feet and gingerly picked up the bag. In the bathroom he carefully drained the liquid from the syringe into a small bottle before he went through to his study. From his safe he collected a mobile and a padded envelope, into which he slid the bag and its contents. He donned his coat and, envelope tucked carefully into an inner pocket, he left his house.

Harry walked for an hour, doubling back once or twice, switching direction suddenly, and twice catching a taxi only to get out a few blocks later and take another one back. Once he was sure he was not being followed, he hailed another cab and gave his destination as Euston station. Once there he strolled around the station, melting into the throngs that still flowed though it at this late hour, and took the mobile from his pocket. The number was in his head, alongside a list of others he had made sure to memorise in case of emergency. A voice answered after a few rings, and he could hear the sounds of a restaurant in the background.  
"It's Harry Pearce," he said, and was greeted with an uncomfortable silence.  
When the man spoke again, Harry could detect a trace of fear beneath the words. "What do you want?"  
"It's payback time. Meet me at the arranged location in half an hour."  
To his credit, the man had the gumption to protest. "Impossible. I'm in the middle of dinner-"  
"Half an hour," Harry cut him off, and disconnected before the man could respond.

He studied the departure board, walked to the ticket machine and bought one on the milk train to Oxford. It was already boarding at the most remote platform, flush against the outer wall of the station. Harry walked along the platform, unobtrusively studying the carriages as he passed. He saw what he was looking for halfway down and got into the carriage, where he sat down next to an amorous couple who only had eyes for each other. Just before the train started moving he got up, casually picked up the man's beige raincoat and moved through to the next carriage. He shrugged it on before slipping out the doors moments before they closed. Harry meandered to the maintenance office in the corner. A glance at his watch confirmed that it was almost time for a shift change - one of the things he knew from his regular security meetings with station managers. He reached the door just as a bunch of cleaners exited in a flurry of mops and buckets, and slipped through the door behind them before it could swing shut. The electronic lock clicked into place behind him. A swift appraisal confirmed that he had the place to himself, but still he worked quickly. He appropriated a Maintenance Staff jacket and peaked cap, and swapped it for the beige raincoat. Another glance at his watch told him he had to hurry, and he left quickly, punching the button that unlocked the door and striding out confidently. No-one spared him a second glance.

Harry made his way to the bookstore, where he bought a newspaper into which he tucked the envelope, and began to browse through the DIY section. A few minutes later he was joined in the aisle by a tall, sallow-skinned man who retrieved a book from the shelf and paged through it. Harry noticed the way the pages trembled between his fingers.  
He said, "Inside the newspaper is an envelope. It holds a shard of glass and a syringe. I want you to test both the blood on the shard and the skin in the needle of the syringe against the DNA of the subject number included in the envelope. I'll call you in two hours for the results." He put down the newspaper on the shelf between them as he returned a book to its place.  
The man hissed angrily, "I can't do it in two hours! It's impossible."  
Harry's voice acquired a steely edge. "Don't lie to me, Simon. I know it can be done. You are the head of one of the biggest private labs in England, which of course you won't remain to be when it comes to light how much money you've embezzled from the company. Two hours. Be by your phone."

- 0 –

Harry found himself on the Embankment. He leant on the wall and watched the reflection of the Houses of Parliament's lights ripple on the dark water. The tide was in and he could sense the silent power of the water as it surged past. It reflected his churning thoughts, which swung between blood and DNA, death and improbable life, London and South America. Simon would test the blood and skin against Ruth's DNA, which was logged with an anonymous ID number in the MI5 data bank. It was a necessary measure that allowed coroners and hospitals to check whether unidentified patients or corpses belonged to the Security Services without actually exposing their real identities. Harry, from long habit, knew the ID numbers of each member of his team by heart. He didn't know, however, what he would do if it were indeed Ruth's DNA in that syringe. Of course, even if it were, it did not mean that she was necessarily alive, he reminded himself. There were so many 'ifs' in this scenario that he did not know where to start. He wondered whether his heart could survive a situation where his hope was rekindled, only to have it brutally squashed somewhere down the line. He checked his watch and reached for the mobile, punching in the unfortunate Simon's number once again. Harry pressed it to his ear tightly as he listened to it ringing, willing the other man to pick up. He did after a few seconds and Harry simply said, "Simon," glad that his relief was not evident in his voice.  
"It's a match," the other man said curtly.  
Harry snapped, "The blood or the skin or both? Be precise." He could barely hear the voice on the other end above the hammering of his heart.  
"Both the blood on the shard and the skin in the needle are a match to the sample in the database," Simon responded in a clipped tone.  
Harry closed his eyes and gripped the mobile so hard that he half expected it to shatter. "Thank you," he managed to say before disconnecting abruptly. He dropped the mobile into the water and gripped the wall with both hands, worried that he would fly apart if he did not hold onto something solid. No matter how hard he tried to suppress it, a little seed of hope had germinated and one thought began to dominate all others.

Ruth could be alive.

- 0 –

_Two days later, late evening  
Home Secretary's house_

William Towers sat across from his Head of Counter Terrorism and observed him keenly. There was a restless energy to Harry, barely suppressed, and it intrigued Towers. In the months since Ruth's death this was the most animated he had seen the man and he wondered at the cause. Either Harry was about to inform him of a looming calamity of apocalyptic proportions, or he'd won the lottery.  
"So," Towers began when Harry did not speak. "Why the sudden desire to meet at my house?"  
"I can't risk what I'm about to tell you leaking out."  
Towers did not like the sound of that. "Are you telling me that my office is not secure?"  
"No," Harry assured him. "But your aides are in and out all the time and I simply did not want to run the risk of anything being overheard."  
"I see," Towers responded, eyeing Harry warily. "You're beginning to scare me, Harry."  
"No, it's not-" Harry stopped talking and looked away, highly uncomfortable. This discussion had the potential to become very personal, and he avoided those whenever possible. But this time there was no choice. Towers had been unfailingly supportive in the dark days after Ruth's death, and had become something of a friend. He'd gone out of his way to make time for Harry, and they'd even gone to the opera once. So there was nothing for it; he would have to bite the bullet and have this conversation.

Harry leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and interlinked his fingers loosely. He looked Towers in the eye.  
"Ruth may be alive."  
Whatever Towers had expected, Harry's statement was not even in the same solar system. He was flabbergasted, but it quickly turned to grave concern. "Oh, Harry. No. Don't do this to yourself," he urged in a low voice.  
Harry knew what was going through Towers' head and gave an almost smile. "I haven't lost my mind, William. Believe me, I know how desperate and divorced from reality the idea sounds. But let me give you the facts before you judge."  
It was Harry's calmness that decided the Home Secretary. "All right. But I think we need some fortification for this discussion."  
He got up and poured them both a stiff Scotch, before settling down in his armchair again. "Proceed."  
Harry informed him of Sasha Gavrik's unexpected appearance and the information he conveyed. He left nothing out, other than the fact that he had pointed a gun at the young Russian. Towers listened attentively, a hint of morbid fascination on his face at the mention of a drug that could induce a death-like state.  
"This... TTX 2?"  
"Synthetic Tetrodotoxin," Harry confirmed.  
"Yes. It really works? I mean, you can use it to fool people into thinking that someone is dead?"  
"Yes. We've used it ourselves."  
"Good heavens," Towers murmured and eyed Harry wonderingly. "Some days I wonder at all the things you must have seen and experienced in your many years of service. You seem remarkably sane in the face of it, my friend."  
"Until now?" Harry couldn't resist from asking, and Towers laughed. He lifted his glass at his companion. "Jury's still out."

They sobered again and Towers continued his interrogation of the information. "You've had everything tested, I assume?"  
Harry nodded. "Ruth's DNA was found in the point of the needle. And the substance inside the syringe was indeed TTX 2."  
"Okay. But Harry, could it really fool medical personnel? I mean, if they did an extensive examination of her. And the Coroner too would surely have made a thorough investigation before declaring her dead…"  
He petered out and glanced at Harry worriedly. "I'm sorry. This must be a difficult discussion for you."  
Harry inclined his head and took a sip of Scotch. He was quite proud of the fact that the glass was steady in his hand.  
"Yes, you're right," he answered Towers' initial question. "A thorough medical investigation would have discovered that she was still alive."  
He looked at the Home Secretary. "Which is why I looked into the emergency medical personnel that responded to the call."  
Towers could feel the nervous tension in the room go up a notch. "Go on," he encouraged.  
"The team that responded to the call does not work for the local emergency services. The usual crew went down with food poisoning that morning and they asked for temporary personnel for the day. The company that normally provides the temporary personnel has no record of such a request and swears high and low that they never provided any such assistance."  
Towers stared at him, not sure what to think. He was a little ashamed that he doubted for a second whether Harry was telling him the truth, and it must have showed on his face because Harry said tersely, "You can check that independently if you like."  
Towers sighed and waved a hand in the air. "That won't be necessary. I think given the personal stakes for you I'm confident that you would have been thorough."  
Harry nodded once, somewhat mollified, and the two men sat in silence as Towers tried to comprehend everything. Eventually he looked up and admitted, "I truly don't know what to say, Harry. This is so far out of the realm of my experience…"

Harry laughed, a short, bitter bark of a sound that made Towers look at him sharply.  
"What?"  
"I'm going to pursue it. Don't even try to tell me that I can't-"  
"I wasn't-"  
"If there is a half percent of a chance that Ruth is alive, I have to pursue it. I owe her that."  
Towers kept quiet and held Harry's angry glare calmly.  
"Are you done?" he asked eventually, and went on before Harry could respond. "I wouldn't dream of telling you not to pursue it, if only for the reason that you would continue to do so behind my back anyway."  
He smiled slightly to let Harry know that it wasn't meant as a rebuke. "I was fond of Ruth as well, you know. She was… is… whatever, a remarkable woman."  
"Yes," Harry murmured, and for a second his self-control slipped and his immeasurable grief and longing was plain to see. But he swiftly suppressed it and looked at Towers.  
"There's another dimension to this."  
The Home Secretary looked apprehensive. "Yes?"  
"What did Johnny Marks want with me in the first place? This is a lot of effort for revenge – he could simply have shot me if that's what he was after. Instead he wanted me alive, and I wonder why that is. I think there's something bigger at play here, and if he's kept Ruth all this time, it is because he intends to use her as a pawn in his game."  
The two men looked at each other gravely as the implications of Harry's statement hit home.

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

_The next morning  
London_

It was a pleasant day. The sun shone warmly and there were only a few wispy clouds drifting along on a gentle breeze. Dimitri and Erin strolled along the pavement, barely aware of the weather. Their concentration was focussed on the people around them, on the lookout for anyone that showed interest in their movements. Each had received a call early that morning, from Harry, and he'd said only two words: Sunstrike Protocol. Hence they found themselves making their way to an address that had been drummed into them from the first day they had set foot on the Grid, but which neither of them had ever seen. Part of the Sunstrike Protocol was the strict instruction to never go near this place unless the Protocol had been invoked. As they neared their destination, Dimitri glanced around them. They were in one of the less salubrious parts of the city, one of those areas that had once been middle class but had gradually deteriorated and were now favoured by those on the lower rungs of society. He broke the silence, speaking in a low voice.  
"Do you have any idea what this is about?"  
Erin shook her head, her dark hair swirling around her shoulders. "No. Harry's been preoccupied the last few days; maybe we'll soon find out why."  
Dimitri had noticed his boss' distraction as well – ever since Ruth's death they all kept a close eye on Harry, solicitous of his state of mind and anxious to provide any support he might need.  
"If it's work related, why hasn't he said anything to us though?" he queried, suddenly aware of how little experience he still had as an intelligence officer. He really had no idea what type of event would necessitate the invocation of the Sunstrike Protocol.  
Erin smiled ironically and said, "I think you'll find the amount of work-related things Harry knows but never shares with us are enough to fill the Olympic stadium a few times over, D." She nodded across the street. "We're here."

- 0 –

_Twenty minutes later_

They were all assembled and Harry discreetly ran his eye over his meagre team. Erin and Dimitri sat on the sofa, not too close together, which almost made him smile. He was well aware of the undercurrent of attraction that ran between them but was unsure whether they had acted on it yet. He secretly hoped so. Calum was moving around, inquisitively rooting amongst the bits and bobs that were scattered around the dusty flat. This time Harry did not tell his team that the flat belonged to him or that he had stayed here during his divorce. After everything that he'd experienced since, the pain of that time seemed strangely self-indulgent now.  
"Calum," he said, and the techie came over and slouched down on a chair.  
Harry took a moment to order his thoughts. "I have picked up whisperings that something big may be in the offing."  
He removed an A4 sized photograph from an envelope lying on the table and handed it to them. "Memorise that face," he instructed as they circulated it among themselves. "He'll be a few years older now, so keep that in mind."  
"Who is he?" Dimitri asked, studying the unsmiling face carefully.  
"Johnny Marks," Harry said with a hint of disdain. Erin looked at him curiously; she detected something else in his voice that she couldn't quite identify, an undercurrent of suppressed emotion perhaps.  
"Wasn't he the bloke that went rogue and stole the money we pay our undercover officers with?" Calum asked.  
"Yes," Harry said grimly. It still grated that Marks had managed to get the better of him. "Fifteen million pounds' worth, so there should be no shortage of funds to achieve whatever he's planning."  
"Sweet. And they say crime doesn't pay," Calum grinned.  
"How do you know he's planning something?" Erin wanted to know, ignoring the techie's comment.  
"He blackmailed a man to assist in kidnapping me," Harry said, "but circumstances intervened."

They all stared at him in surprise. They understood the seriousness of the situation immediately; no-one planned to kidnap a senior intelligence officer without nefarious intentions.  
Harry continued, "I want to keep this away from the Grid. No-one but those present in this room can know that we're aware of the plan to kidnap me. As long as Marks is oblivious, we have the upper hand. But I have an uncomfortable feeling that time is short, so I want every effort made to find out what his intentions are."  
Erin looked at the others. "Okay. Dimitri, why don't you check your shipping contacts, see if anyone plans to bring weapons or people into the country illegally? I'll check with our agents in organised crime. If he's planning something big, he'll need some help, and they could be a likely source."  
Harry nodded. "Be careful, though. Both of you. I don't want Marks to get the faintest sniff that we're onto him." He paused and added, "I can't stress the importance of this operation enough."  
At the uncharacteristic emotion in his voice, Erin once again glanced at him speculatively.  
"Harry, is this operation officially authorised?" she dared to ask, and his eyes snapped to her, hard and dark.  
"Yes. The Home Secretary knows about it. You are welcome to call him and confirm."  
He held her gaze until she nodded and turned towards Calum. "Marks is likely to need tech support, so check discreetly whether any well-known hackers have dropped off the radar of late."

With the tasks handed out they dispersed, with the brief to report back in two days' time. Erin lingered behind and Harry's irritation levels rose automatically. He had an inkling what she was about to say and he didn't have the patience to deal with it at that moment. He pre-empted her. "If you're about to ask me how I am, Erin, don't. Someone planned to kidnap and probably torture me, and I am rather pissed off at that, to be frank. That's all."  
Erin didn't back off. She stood her ground and despite his annoyance he admired that.  
"I get the feeling you haven't told us everything, Harry, and that worries me. I'm responsible for the safety of my team, and I can't do that to the best of my ability if I don't have all the facts."  
Harry stared her down. He had expected this, and from long experience had made sure that he had something to allay her suspicions with. It was classic counter-interrogation procedure – hold out as long as you could before divulging your second biggest secret in the hope that this would convince your interrogators that it was, in fact, the biggest secret you knew. Eventually he said, "Johnny Marks and I have some history. When he went rogue, I was sent to kill him. I blew up his car, but unfortunately he wasn't driving it that day. His brother was."  
Erin exclaimed incredulously, "So this could all be an attempt to avenge his brother's death."  
"I don't think so," Harry countered. "I _know_ Marks – he got his revenge for his brother when he bested me to get his hands on our money and forced me to let him walk away alive."  
He shook his head. "The only reason he wants me now is to get information that he thinks only I have, and that concerns me. That's my assessment, and the Home Secretary agrees with me."  
Erin watched him as she weighed his words and eventually acquiesced. "We'll report back in two days then."  
"Yes. But no discussion of this on the Grid, Erin. That's imperative." His eyes followed her out the door, and somehow he knew that she would call the Home Secretary at the first opportunity. He couldn't really blame her after the Gavrik debacle. He sighed heavily and lowered himself onto the sofa to await his second appointment.

Harry sat quietly and stared at the dirty window opposite. He once again evaluated his decision not to tell the team that Ruth could be alive and linked to this operation. It was the sceptical reaction from Towers that had persuaded him that this was the best course of action. He needed the team to be focussed on what had to be done, rather than worry about his mental health. Instead he would run a parallel operation, aimed at confirming whether Ruth is alive and then to find her. He tried not to get ahead of himself, even though it was becoming increasingly difficult. In unguarded moments he found himself thinking about their reunion, and they were moments of true exultation. But he was aware that it was dangerous to do so; that it only increased the possibility that it would destroy him if none of this turned out to be true. He shook himself angrily and got up to pace to the grimy window, to stare at the empty street. What he wouldn't give for it to be true – for a chance to see her eyes once again, this time not clouded with pain. He thought he would gladly sell his very soul to have that chance. The bell buzzed and he strode quickly to the door. The face of Malcolm Wynn Jones stared up at the security camera, and Harry punched the button to let him in.

- 0 –

Harry made them tea, and Malcolm jokingly remarked that it must be serious. When Harry didn't laugh, Malcolm quickly sobered and studied his former boss more closely. What he saw caused him to ask with some alarm, "What's happened, Harry?"  
Harry gestured at the sofa and as Malcolm sat down, he leaned against the counter. He was too restless to sit down for this discussion.  
"It's about Ruth, Malcolm."  
A look of confusion spread across Malcolm's face; the last time he had seen Harry had been at her funeral. "I don't understand."  
Harry half-laughed, half-sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not sure I do either, most of the time. But bear with me and I'll do my best to explain."  
Malcolm nodded, his eyes never leaving Harry's face.

Harry began at what he deemed to be the beginning, with the reappearance of Elena Gavrik in his life. He was brutally honest, relaying how she had deceived him and lied to him about Sasha, and how it had all come to a head in the disused bunker on the estuary and led to Ruth's death. When his voice cracked at this point, Malcolm pretended not to notice.  
Harry took a beat to collect himself before he said, "Then, a few days ago, I received a visit from Sasha Gavrik. What he told me…" He changed tack. "Do you remember Johnny Marks?"  
Malcolm's eyebrows rose. "Johnny Marks? Of course I remember him. What does he have to do with all this?"  
"That's what I want to find out," Harry responded tightly. "Sasha claimed Marks approached him; blackmailed him to inject me with TTX 2 so that Marks could kidnap me."  
Malcolm was incredulous. "What on earth for?"  
"I don't know that yet." Harry took a breath. "But instead of injecting me, Sasha alleges he accidentally injected Ruth when he stabbed her."  
Malcolm opened his mouth, then closed it again, lost for words. Harry watched him, waiting for the rational arguments against the possibility of Ruth being alive. But when Malcolm did speak, he surprised Harry by simply asking, "What are you going to do, and how can I help?"

Filled with a gratitude he didn't know how to express, Harry's shoulders relaxed visibly. He gave Malcolm a small smile and explained, "My team is working on what Marks have planned that would necessitate my kidnap. I didn't tell them that Ruth might be alive – I need them to focus on Marks' intentions."  
Malcolm was able to read between the lines. He asked, "You want me to look for Johnny Marks, and find out whether he has Ruth?"  
"Yes, to the first part anyway. I want you to find him. I'll take it from there." Harry set down his mug. "Sasha said Johnny was in South America somewhere."  
"Right," Malcolm nodded. "That's as good a place as any to start." He sunk into deep thought and Harry gave him a minute before he continued.  
"I happen to know that Tessa Philips is in Brazil. Rio."  
Malcolm looked at him in surprise. "You kept track of Tessa all these years?"  
"Of course. She's trouble, and not nearly as good an intelligence officer as she likes to think. The point is, she and Marks were close. She was pregnant with his child, but had a miscarriage I think. But Marks still had feelings for her, I'm convinced of that. Ergo, now that they're both outcasts I wouldn't be surprised if they hooked up again."  
He handed Malcolm a flash drive. "All the information I have on Tessa is on there."  
Malcolm slipped it into his pocket, and said slowly, "You know, there is someone else we can ask for help."  
But Harry shook his head decisively. "I've already asked more of Tom than I should have. I can't involve him again."  
Malcolm was momentarily discombombulated, but then he smiled. "Okay, there are two people who could help."  
It was Harry's turn to look confused.  
"I was thinking of someone who is ideally placed to keep an eye on Tessa," he said meaningfully, and the penny dropped for Harry.

- 0 –

_Next day, late evening  
Docklands pub, London_

Dimitri squinted in the smoky gloom of the pub's interior. Apparently news of the anti-smoking laws had not yet reached this seedy establishment, and none of the patrons were likely to be inclined to complain. The man behind the bar was big, extensively tattooed, with skin the colour and texture of burnished leather - a legacy of his many years on the oceans. The spook leaned against the bar and surveyed the other people milling about. Spurts of raucous laughter burst out occasionally, and Dimitri heard about five different languages spoken. The man he was interested in was holding court in the midst of a rowdy group in the corner. He was a small Hungarian, swarthy and balding, a fact he tried to hide under a knitted cap. He hadn't spotted Dimitri yet and was in good spirits, treating his companions to a bawdy tale involving whores and kinky sex. Dimitri doubted whether any of it was true – Berba was a closet homosexual with a fondness for dangerous men, and as a result he picked up a lot of information about the dark undercurrents of society. After three quarters of an hour, Berba detached himself from the group and moved towards the loos. Dimitri pushed himself upright and followed. When Berba moved though the swing doors Dimitri was right behind him. The corridor beyond was deserted and Dimitri landed a heavy hand on the little man's shoulder. Berba yelped in surprise and tried to spin around, but Dimitri easily held him fast.  
"Hello, Berba. Let's go for a walk," he said and propelled the Hungarian towards the back door.  
"Oh, it's you," Berba said with some relief. "You scared me."

The comment interested Dimitri but he didn't say anything until they had passed through the door. The air outside was cool and crisp and he felt Berba shiver. Dimitri propped him against the wall and searched his face, and was intrigued by the spark of fear he saw in Berba's eyes. The man knew something, but was afraid to tell the spook. On impulse Dimitri reached into his pocket and took out an envelope. Usually he would try alternatively sweet talking and mildly threatening his asset to get what he wanted, but something told him that a more direct approach was needed this time. He held up the envelope. "In here is two thousand pounds," he declared, and Berba drew in a sharp breath. It was a fortune to a man like him.  
The spook continued. "I know that you have picked up information about something big that is about to go down. I want to know what that is."  
Berba swallowed and licked his lips, his eyes flitting between the envelope and Dimitri's face.  
"Come on, Berba," Dimitri said and wiggled the envelope. "It's a one-time offer."  
Berba started talking.

- 0 –

_Next morning  
Sunstrike safehouse_

"I've got something," Dimitri said as soon as everyone had settled down. All eyes focussed on him. "Someone is throwing a lot of money around, recruiting small-time crooks and unemployed people to start a new round of riots during the Olympics. My source doesn't know why though."  
Erin frowned. "What could be gained from disrupting the Olympics?"  
"For one thing, it'll make the Security Services look like mugs," Calum said, and Harry's eyes fastened on him thoughtfully.  
"It's interesting that you say that," Dimitri continued and turned to Harry. "The same someone is apparently recruiting disgruntled former intelligence officers for an unknown purpose."  
Erin looked alarmed, and Harry's mouth set in a grim line. "Your source had no idea what this person wanted the intelligence officers for?"  
Dimitri shook his head. "He heard it from a former MI6 officer, who said they were being paid to be available to do something in London during the Olympics. They weren't told what."  
Harry stood and began to pace. "This has Johnny Marks' slimy prints all over it."  
Calum leaned back on his chair. "So we find a disgruntled former officer somewhere and squeeze the details out of him," he suggested.  
Harry stopped pacing and turned back with a dark expression on his face. "Yes. And I know just the person. Leave it to me."

_tbc_


	4. Chapter 4

**PART IV**

_Early evening_

_Chelsea, London_

Harry pulled up to the high gates, his gaze drawn beyond it to the imposing mansion sitting at the end of a curving drive. Apparently being forced out of one's post in disgrace did not prevent one from making lots of money. He contemplated what he was about to do; it was either an inspired stroke of genius, or one of the worst miscalculations of his long career. And he'd made a few whoppers in his time. He lowered the window and pushed the buzzer, then stared into the security camera impassively. For nearly two minutes nothing happened and he began to wonder whether his trip had been in vain, before he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. The gates had begun to swing inwards soundlessly, and he let out a slow breath. He took his time driving up to the house, instinctively studying the layout of the grounds as he did so. From what he could see in the failing light, the gardens were immaculate. He noted the guardhouse just inside the gates in the rearview mirror, as well as a water bowl next to it. So there were dogs. As he pulled up before the house, the front door opened and a man came out. The face was a few years older, the forehead seemingly even higher than the last time Harry saw him. But the lips were still thin and bloodless, and the eyes held the same spark of intelligence and cunning they had always done. Harry got out and they surveyed each other across the roof of the car.  
He said, "Hullo, Oliver."

- 0 –

Mace showed him into the study and poured them both a drink without asking. The former JIC Chairman did a good job of hiding any surprise he might feel at Harry's sudden appearance on his doorstep. He handed Harry the tumbler and settled in the leather armchair opposite him. They toasted each other silently, the weight of the history between them hanging heavy upon the air.  
Mace spoke first. "I was sorry to hear about Ruth's death, Harry."  
Harry recognised the words for what they were – an attempt to unsettle him, and retorted mildly, "The first or the second time?"  
Mace smiled. "I knew the first time was a set-up; I may be getting on in years but I can still remember who I had clandestine meetings with and who not." He brushed a piece of lint from his sleeve and continued, "No, I meant for what happened three months ago."  
Harry didn't trust his voice so merely nodded and took a sip of the Scotch. It was of excellent quality. Mace was watching him, and Harry recognised a certain caginess in that look that made him think that he had made the right choice to gamble on this visit. He set down the glass and leaned back.  
"This isn't a social visit, Oliver."  
"I suspected as much."  
Mace reached for the half-smoked cigar that nestled in the ashtray next to him, and Harry waited until he had relit it before he continued. "Someone is recruiting disgruntled former intelligence officers."  
"Really," Mace said disingenuously, but his voice was just too innocent, and Harry narrowed his eyes.  
"I believe they approached you as well."

Mace took his time to answer, first blowing a stream of blue smoke towards the ceiling. "What makes you think that?"  
"Because you are the most powerful former intelligence officer out there."  
Harry did not miss the momentary flash of pride that crossed the other man's face. Mace had always been conceited, and Harry calculated that the best way to get to him was to stroke that considerable ego. He continued, "And because of the nature of your dismissal and my involvement in it."  
That got Mace's attention. "How so?" he asked curiously.  
Harry carefully weighed how much of what he knew he could reveal. If this backfired and Mace went straight to Johnny Marks, he would have given away the most significant advantage they had at present – Marks' ignorance.  
"I have history with the man behind it," he settled on. "He hates me, and he's gambling on the fact that you have reason to do the same."  
Mace watched him intently through the smoke. "Even if someone has approached me, and I'm not saying anyone has, why would I tell you?" he inquired. "After all, as you just said, you ruined my career." There was a trace of resentment in his voice, and Harry proceeded cautiously.  
"Because whatever else you may be, you are not a traitor," he said with conviction. "Everything you did, you did because you believed it was for the best of the country. You are a patriot, Oliver, and no patriot could willingly align himself with a fiend of the calibre of Johnny Marks."  
Mace blinked slowly and his eyes dropped to the cigar in his hand. "Yes," he said after a beat, almost with a sense of wonder. Harry kept quiet and let the other man work through the implications in his own time. He could almost see the exact moment Mace made his decision as he ground out the cigar, buying more time before he spoke.  
"So you know Johnny Marks is behind everything."  
"Yes," Harry responded. "I know that he plans to incite more riots during the Olympics to make the Security Services look bad, but I believe that is simply a smokescreen for something bigger. I don't know what that is, and it worries me a great deal."  
Mace made a non-committal sound and sipped at his drink, and for an agonising second Harry thought that he had miscalculated and that Mace would give him nothing. But then he lifted his eyes to Harry's and said, "He plans to assassinate the Prime Minister, the Foreign Secretary and the Home Secretary."

Harry stared at him, aghast. "Good God."  
"Indeed," Mace said dryly. "For 'crimes against humanity' committed in the Middle East. Seems he really did go native when posted out there." He paused. "He's nothing if not ambitious. When I expressed doubt as to the feasibility of his plans, he merely smiled and said he had an ace up his sleeve." Now Mace studied Harry with interest. "He intimated that he had something on you, that he would turn you into his puppet and that you would actually be the one to kill the PM."  
Harry felt a prickle of fear run down his spine, but smiled confidently and said, "Did he now. Did he give any indication as to what he thinks he has on me?"  
Mace shrugged. "No. But he's outmanoeuvred you once already, so why not again?"  
Harry gave Mace a hard look; evidently the man was not above rubbing Harry's nose in his past failures. He was secretly pleased by that – if Mace had suddenly turned into an eager-to-please collaborator he would have suspected a trap. But the barely hidden resentment towards him was a good sign. It showed that Mace had decided to help him despite their differences, for the good of the country.  
"Is there a time frame for his plans?" Harry asked.  
"No. But it doesn't take a genius to work out that it's likely to be sometime during the Olympics, what with the intention to incite riots during the event."  
Harry gently swirled the remaining Scotch around his glass. "Distract and strike," he murmured thoughtfully before lifting his gaze to Mace again.  
"So what did you tell him?"  
"Hmm?" Mace said, pretending not to understand what Harry was asking.  
Harry wasn't fooled. "What did you tell Johnny Marks when he approached you?"  
Mace considered lying, but decided that he might derive more satisfaction from the truth. "I said I would come on board if he succeeded in drawing you into the scheme."  
Harry smiled at that. "How very you, Oliver," he murmured, and Mace's expression darkened momentarily before he shrugged.  
"You and I will forever be locked in our personal little battle for the soul of the Service, Harry. I believe that the time will come when your old fashioned sense of morality will become obsolete. And when that time comes, they will turn once again to men like me."  
He stared at Harry challengingly, spoiling for a fight, but Harry's reaction surprised him.  
He smiled and drained his glass. "You may very well be right," he concurred without any apparent umbrage and stood.  
"I may need further assistance from you on this. Will you help?"  
Mace stood too, and after a slight hesitation held out his hand.  
"Yes." There was nothing to be gained from refusing except a continued stay in the wilderness.  
The two men shook on it.

- 0 –

Harry drove around aimlessly for half an hour, letting all he'd learnt percolate in his mind. He began to form the full picture, and thought that he knew when Marks would strike at his targets. That's what Johnny wanted him for initially; to tell him when the three targeted men would be vulnerable, and Harry knew immediately what the answer to that was – the official state banquet the night before the closing ceremony of the Olympics. It didn't leave them with much time. But before he could lay his counter-plans, he needed to answer the remaining burning question: Was Ruth alive, and did Johnny Marks have her?

He pulled up next to a pay phone and called Malcolm. The techie listened carefully to Harry's information.  
"Time is short, Malcolm. We need to move quickly."  
"Right. Our man is on his way. I'll keep you informed." The call was disconnected and Harry stood for a moment with the dead phone in his hand. The wheels were in motion to put surveillance on Tessa in the hope that she would lead them to Marks. But would this strategy deliver results in time? The Olympics was about to start in a few weeks – what if Marks had ordered Tessa not to have contact with him until the operation was finished? There was, of course, one other thing he could do to find out if Ruth were indeed in that grave. He had desperately hoped that he would not have to resort to this measure, but he now felt that he no longer had an option. He got back in the car and drove towards Whitehall.

- 0 –

It was late, but Towers was still at the office. Harry strode past his secretary without pausing, causing her to trot after him as she complained, "Sir! You can't just walk in there without-"  
Harry threw open the door and Towers looked up sharply at the unannounced interruption, to be greeted by the sight of his Counter Terrorism Head towing a frazzled secretary in his wake. One look at Harry's taut face, however, evaporated any rebuke he might have given.  
"It's all right, Wendy. Leave us please."  
Harry came to a stop in front of the desk. His eyes flitted from object to object strewn over its surface before finally settling on Towers, and the Home Secretary could see sweat beading on Harry's upper lip.  
Harry took a steadying breath and announced, "I want an exhumation."  
Towers literally gaped. "…What?"  
"You can authorise exhumations on the grounds of national security. I want you to order one for Ruth."  
Revulsion settled on Towers' features at the thought. "Dear God, Harry, have you gone mad?"  
"It's the quickest method of establishing whether she is in that coffin or not," Harry persisted.  
Towers shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Before he spoke again, he stood, wanting to look Harry in the eye for his next words.  
"And what if she were in there, Harry? Would you really want the last image you have of her to be in a state of… of decomposition?"  
The thought alone was enough to cause bile to rise in Harry's throat, and he swallowed hard. "I don't see any other choice. We don't have time."

He briefly explained what he'd learnt from Oliver Mace. The Home Secretary sank back into his chair slowly as he listened.  
"So it's really happening," he said softly, unnerved by the thought that he was one of the men on Marks' hit list.  
"Yes," Harry said, "and I can't help but think that the 'something' he has on me is Ruth. We need to know so that we can plan accordingly."  
Though he didn't spell it out, both men understood his meaning; he'd already given up a state secret for her, and he simply didn't know what else he might be willing to do to save her, to see her again.  
Towers briefly closed his eyes. When he looked at Harry once more, they were filled with resignation. He reached for the phone, never taking his gaze off the man in front of his desk.  
"Wendy, get me the Coroner's office."  
Harry listened in silence, standing stiffly, almost at attention, as Towers ordered the exhumation and put down the phone.  
"Tomorrow at dawn," he informed Harry gravely.  
To his mortification Harry felt tears gather in his eyes and blinked them away rapidly. He nodded, turned on his heel and walked to the door.  
"Harry," Towers' voice followed him. "I'll be there with you."  
Harry paused in mid-step but didn't turn around. He half-lifted a hand in acknowledgement before closing the door behind him. Towers sat and stared at the door, unaware of the seconds passing. Eventually he stood and poured himself an absurdly large measure of whisky.

- 0 –

_Next morning, dawn  
__Epping Forest Cemetery, London_

By the time Towers arrived, they had already removed the headstone and the mechanical digger had begun its work. Harry stood to the side, hands jammed deep into the pockets of his coat, looking like the Harbinger of Death in his dark coat and scarf. Towers made his way over to him, and when he got closer he could see just how pale and haggard the other man was. He came to a stop behind Harry's shoulder and together they watched the digger do its work. Neither spoke a single word.

Harry's mind was a jumble. He was exhausted after a sleepless night, and yet his concentration was unnaturally sharp. He noticed everything; the way the last of the early morning mist curled around the tree trunks, and how the drops of the previous night's rain still clung to the leaves and sparkled brightly in the first rays of the sun. He noticed how bright red the dug-up earth was against the green grass, and it reminded him of her blood on the meadow that day. His eyes never left the digger, and when one of the men held up a hand and jumped into the hole with a shovel, he felt Towers shift uncomfortably behind him. _Soon_, he thought. Soon he would be a step closer to knowing whether his most desperate wish had been granted. He lost all track of time and didn't know how long he stood there, unmoving, before the coffin was cautiously lifted from the ground and onto a steel table that had been set up for the purpose.

He watched, as if in a dream, as the ridiculously young pathologist snapped on some latex gloves and stepped forward with a crowbar. The hinges were forced open expertly and the young man turned to them.  
"We're ready to open her up," he called, his voice carrying easily on the cold morning air.  
Harry was momentarily paralysed, and Towers thought he wouldn't go forward, but then his legs moved as if of their own accord and carried him towards the coffin – his need to know winning out over his fear that it would be her in there after all, dead and decaying.  
The pathologist waited until they came to a stop next to him before he lifted the lid carefully. They were assaulted by the stench of decomposing flesh, and Harry pressed his sleeve against his nose and mouth as he steeled himself to look. The three men stared into the coffin, frozen in place for a few seconds, before Towers physically recoiled in horror and staggered a few paces away to vomit violently.

_tbc_


	5. Chapter 5

_Epping Forest Cemetery, outskirts of London_

Harry and the pathologist stared at the remains in bewilderment. He was only vaguely aware of the retching sounds from Towers behind him. He tilted his head and half-stated, half-asked, "It's… a dog?"  
The pathologist nodded. "Yep, a Bull Mastiff, probably," he said cheerfully, leaning closer. "Looks like the throat was cut."  
He straightened up and regarded Harry keenly. "Not what you were expecting, I take it?"  
Harry shook his head, dazed, assaulted by too many emotions to express any of them. _It wasn't her_. She wasn't in the grave. He was struggling to process the implications. The pathologist, perhaps sensing Harry's turmoil, continued talking.  
"I've seen this a few times in faked death cases – the Bull Mastiff is a popular choice to bury in place of the real body. Nowadays we take biometric readings at a burial site to ascertain whether the remains are likely to be that of the person we're looking for. Due to its size, the Mastiff produces very similar readings to that of an average human body." He snapped closed the lid as Towers joined them again, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief.  
"Sorry. Dog lover," the Home Secretary muttered.  
"What do you want me to do with it?" the pathologist asked, tapping the coffin.  
"Bury it again," Harry said and the two men looked at him in surprise.  
"We don't want them to know that we know," he explained, and Towers nodded.  
"Do as he says," he confirmed.

- 0 –

They sat in Towers' car whilst his security officer and driver stood outside, stamping their feet against the cold. Harry watched as the coffin was lowered back into the hole and the men began to fill it up. Towers glanced at him.  
"I don't want to be a party pooper, Harry, but I feel it must be said-"  
"This doesn't mean that she's alive," Harry completed for him. "I know."  
Hope and despair warred in his expression and Towers considerately changed the topic. "What do we do now?"  
Harry flexed his shoulders, trying to relieve some of the tension in them. "It seems a big part of Johnny Marks' strategy relies on him being able to manipulate me into doing his bidding. So we take that part out of the equation."  
"How?"  
Harry turned to Towers, and for the next ten minutes explained the plan he had formulated during his sleepless night. Towers baulked at a few points, but in the end they agreed on the way forward.  
"You think Mace will play ball?" Towers wanted to know, and Harry nodded after giving it some thought.  
"He has nothing to gain by double-crossing us. I think he'll pass on the message."  
Towers was not quite convinced. "And you'd be okay with the content of it?"  
Harry's mouth twitched. "It's a rumour, William. Far worse things have been said about me. And you, for that matter."  
"Well, yes, that's true," Towers said and the two men shared a smile.  
"What about Ruth, though?" he asked. "If she's alive, she may not appreciate what you're about to do."  
"Perhaps, but it's worth the risk." It was clear that Harry's mind was made up, and Towers decided to let it go.

- 0 –

_Santiago, Chile_

Tom Quinn strolled down the sidewalk and barely glanced at the house opposite. From the outside it seemed roomy and comfortable, a good fit for a family of four. There was a slide in the small yard, and a big shaggy dog lounged on the welcome mat in front of the door. Tom's thoughts went back to his own house and circumstances back in England, and he was struck by the similarities. But whereas he was blessed with two little girls, there were two boys resident in this house. As he turned at the end of the street the front door opened and a man stepped through and over the dog. The boys followed, and the dog scrambled to its feet and danced around them as they chattered away in Spanish, pushing and shoving each other playfully. Tom watched until they disappeared around the corner before he returned to the house. The low chicken wire gate squeaked loudly when he pushed it open and he smiled. It was the oldest trick in the book. The dog bounded up to him, nuzzling into his hand, and he spoke softly to it. He saw the curtain twitch and knew that he had been seen, and the next moment the door was flung open and Zoe stood framed in it. Still tall, still elegant, but the figure perhaps a little fuller than he remembered. He swallowed against the sudden rush of memories; they had seen so many things together, things that a normal person would have difficulty to understand. When her eyes filled with tears, he smiled warmly and said, "Hello, Gina."  
Using her new name to let her know that all was well.  
"Tom?" she whispered, before flinging herself into his arms. He hugged her tight and whispered into her ear, "Hey Zoe."

They pulled apart and she laughed as she wiped away her tears.  
"Tom Quinn," she said wonderingly. "I never thought I'd see that ugly face again."  
He laughed too and the marks the years and worries had left on his face fell away, and for a moment she saw the Tom she remembered from before it had all gone wrong.

- 0 -

They settled around the table in the large kitchen with cups of tea. They had dispatched with the small talk about their own lives and families, and Tom reached into his pocket and took out a flash drive. He placed it on the table between them and said, "I'm here on behalf of Harry, Zoe."  
He saw the worry flash across her expressive face and hastened to add, "This isn't about your situation. Nothing has changed there. The powers that be have no interest in pursuing you – they'd made their point with the court case and don't really care who does the prison term. You're safe as long as the press doesn't get wind of it."  
She sighed with relief. After a moment's reflection she revealed, "Harry organised a teaching job for me at the local school." To Tom's surprise she added, "And he sends me messages from time to time." A fond smile curled her lips. "I think Danny believed Harry never knew that he'd told Will where to find me, but he did. Not long after Will arrived he set him up with a job too, at the district newspaper."  
Tom looked concerned. "Zoe… Did he let you know about Danny?"  
Her face saddened and she nodded. "He said he died a hero – goading a terrorist into shooting him in order to save another officer's life."  
She looked at Tom with a sad smile. "Danny always did have a sense for the dramatic."  
Tom laughed and reached across the table to squeeze her hand. "Yes. He did."  
They sat quietly, fondly remembering their former colleague and friend.  
"So," Zoe said eventually. "Why did Harry send you here?"  
Tom pushed the flash drive towards her. "I'll let him tell you himself."

- 0 –

Zoe had set up a laptop on the table and now accessed the only file on the flash drive. It was a video, and it opened on Harry's face as he sat staring at his hands folded together on the table in front of him. Tom reclined against the sink behind her and watched over her shoulder.  
"All right," a disembodied voice said which Zoe immediately recognised as Malcolm's, and Harry lifted his head and looked into the camera.  
"Hello, Zoe. I trust that Will and the boys are fine. They grow up so fast, don't they?" He paused with a somewhat resigned smile, probably thinking about his own children.  
"I've sent Tom there on a mission, and he could use your help. I want to stress, though, that this is a request, and you have every right to refuse. I also feel that I should be honest with you… Even though it forms part of a legitimate operation, this is a very personal matter to me."  
Zoe frowned; Harry came across as world-weary and somehow diminished when compared with the man she remembered. She glanced at Tom and saw empathy on his face as he watched the image of his former boss.  
"It's about Ruth," Harry said simply. "She and I were about to leave the Service together when circumstances intervened."  
Zoe hit pause and whipped around to face Tom. "_Harry_ and _Ruth_?" she asked incredulously.  
Tom nodded, momentarily amused by her reaction. "It's a long story."  
"I'd like to hear it all the same," Zoe said and the stubborn set of her mouth told Tom that arguing would be pointless.  
"I only know some of it," he warned, deciding not to tell her that he'd learnt it from Harry when he had asked him to kill Mikhail Levrov. He relayed the story of Ruth's first faked death and exile, and the circumstances around her return. By the time he moved on to the events surrounding Lucas North and Albany, Zoe was hanging on his every word.

"I can't believe Harry would give a state secret to a rogue officer, no matter what the circumstances." She was obviously having trouble to reconcile these events with her mental picture of who Harry was.  
"Mm," Tom concurred. "But then we never really got to know Harry the man, did we? We only knew the Boss in the glass office, the Protector of the Realm."  
He proceeded to tell her about the Gavriks and the eventual heart-rending outcome of it, and Zoe covered her mouth with her hand, instantly mourning her former friend.  
"God, it's like a Greek tragedy," she sniffed, wiping away tears. "I always thought Ruth at least would be safe, being a desk spook. I can't believe she's dead."  
"I'm glad you said that," Tom said, and she was taken aback by his flippant tone. But before she could berate his insensitivity, he dropped his bombshell. "We believe Ruth may in fact still be alive, which is why I'm here."  
Zoe's confusion showed on her face and Tom pointed at the laptop, indicating that she should continue the video. She turned back to it reluctantly and clicked Play.  
"Do you remember Johnny Marks?" Harry continued and then answered his own question. "I'm confident that you will after your experiences in the Turkish embassy. Well, he's back. He concocted a plan to abduct me, but it backfired and we think he got Ruth instead."  
He explained everything, including his conviction that Tessa Philips could be the key to locating Marks. He ended with, "All of this was a rather long-winded prelude to asking you to assist Tom in staking out Tessa, and to follow Marks if he should show up. I'll understand if you don't want to do it, Zoe. I truly would. The decision is yours. Be safe, and kiss your boys for me."  
Harry's face faded away as the video reached its end.

Tom watched her intently as she sat back, processing everything Harry had said. He'd seen the flicker of anger at the mention of Tessa, and realised that Zoe still felt deeply betrayed by a woman she once used to look up to.  
"So, what say you, Zoe?" he asked softly after a few minutes had elapsed, and added shrewdly, "Want to help me try and save Ruth, and at the same time get our revenge on Marks and Tessa?"  
Zoe looked up at him and he saw excitement in her eyes. He wondered whether she was even aware of it as she said, "I'd love to help you save Ruth, and to stick it to that cow Tessa."  
Tom grinned at her enthusiasm, and felt the same emotion pushing up inside him at the thought of once again working side by side with his old friend.

- 0 –

_Late that night  
State mortuary, London_

Chief Coroner Alan Lewis put away the last of his instruments and stretched his back gratefully. It had been a long day and he'd finished the last of his autopsies a few minutes ago. He wondered idly what his wife would serve for dinner whilst he put the scalpel back in the tray. As he turned around to push his last customer back to the freezer, he caught a movement in the shadows from the corner of his eye and spun around. A man stepped forward into the light and Alan heaved a sigh of relief.  
"Harry, you scared me. I didn't know you needed to see me."  
Harry did not immediately respond and the coroner looked at his face more carefully. It bore an expression of cold contempt and Alan felt the first tendrils of fear stir inside.  
"Can I help you with something?"  
"Yes, Alan. I believe you can." Harry picked up the scalpel and toyed with it, watching the way its razor sharp blade reflected the light. Alan swallowed nervously, which with Harry's next words turned into full-blown terror.  
"You can tell me what Johnny Marks paid you to deceive me about Ruth Evershed."  
Alan Lewis looked into the other man's unforgiving eyes and knew that he had made a most dangerous enemy for life.

- 0 –

_Three days later, late night  
Harry's house_

Harry rested his head against the back of his armchair and closed his eyes. The music washed over him –a selection of cello concertos – and soothed his churning thoughts. There had been a lot of developments over the last few days. Malcolm had managed to locate Tessa and Tom and Zoe had her under constant surveillance. There was no sign yet of Johnny Marks, but Harry could feel in his gut that Marks would soon want to make his move and he hoped that the man would visit Tessa one last time before he did so. Earlier that day Malcolm had informed him that Tessa had bought a plane ticket to Peru, so perhaps, if they were really lucky, she would lead them right to Marks' lair. Harry reckoned they were due for a bit of luck. Tom had managed to charter a flight that would get there just before Tessa's, so hopefully they wouldn't lose her.

And then there was the information that he had extracted from Alan Lewis, which had allowed them to track the path of the money Marks had paid the coroner. Calum had traced it right back to Marks' secret account, and was now tracking any other payments made from the account. These would lead them to the former officers Marks had hired and they would all be put under the closest possible surveillance. None of them would get near the three people on Marks' hit list – Harry was confident of that. So all that remained was for him to take himself out of the equation. To that end he had visited Oliver Mace once again that evening, requesting him to ensure that a specific rumour reached Johnny's ears. The idea was to convince Marks that Ruth could not be used against him, but at the same time he did not want to remove any usefulness she might have for fear that he would simply kill her. Harry wondered briefly what Ruth would make of the rumour, but he didn't dwell on the thought - mostly he just hoped that she was alive to make anything of it. Though, as he took a sip of Scotch, he couldn't shake a nagging suspicion that it may not be enough to prevent Marks from trying to get to him.

- 0 –

_Same day  
Near Matucana in Andes mountains, Peru_

She heard the key turn in the lock and the heavy door swung open. Her captor walked in, balancing a tray with food and a glass of water on one hand. She stayed where she was, seated on the foot of the narrow mattress, but her eyes followed his every move. He set the tray down on the cement floor and stood looking down at her. She wondered what he thought, what he saw when he looked at her. After three months of captivity and infrequent showers, she was sure she looked a sight. But her physical appearance was the least of her concerns; she wondered what his intentions were.  
"How much longer are you going to keep me here?" Her voice sounded loud and alien to her ears.  
He squatted down and stared at her thoughtfully. "As long as it takes."  
As though he could read her thoughts, he continued flatly. "No-one's looking for you. They all think you're dead. So there's no need for haste."  
She hated the tears that came to her eyes, but lifted her chin belligerently all the same. "What use will I be if they all think I'm dead?"  
He laughed softly, and lifted a hand to flick a strand of unkempt hair out of her face. "Oh, plenty of use, because there is one man who has shown that he would give anything to have you back."  
She flinched away from his touch, and he laughed again and stood. "I would much rather have had him, it's true, but you're not bad as second prizes go."  
With that parting shot he closed the door behind him and she heard the lock click shut.

She sat for a moment longer, thinking about what he'd said, before listlessly picking up the tray. The chicken rice was oily and she had to force herself to eat, aware that she had to keep up her strength. She spared a few grains of rice which she scattered on the window sill of the paneless window, then stood, clutching the bars, waiting for the birds to come. It was the highlight of her day.

Far away, a little higher up the mountain, a camera clicked repeatedly, capturing the face at the window.

_tbc_


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: If the timeline seems confusing, keep in mind the time difference between London and Peru.  
**

_Four hours later  
Harry's house_

He had just settled into bed when one of his mobiles beeped. He switched on the light to find that it was the one he communicated with Malcolm on. Only Malcolm had the number, and the lateness of the hour meant it could only be some development from South America. He retrieved the SMS, which read, _You'll want to see this immediately_.  
There was an image attached and he opened it with bated breath. It was a face in a barred window, a face he had studied and admired for years and would recognise anywhere. He rushed to his study and powered up his laptop to download the image. With shaking hands he enlarged it and stared numbly at the beloved features. His eyes travelled lovingly over the unkempt hair, caressed the curve of the cheek and drowned in the vivid blue-grey colour of the one eye visible. They traced the shape of the lips, which seemed to be curled in a half-smile as she watched a small colourful bird on the sill in front of her. He stared at the image unblinkingly, afraid that it would disappear the moment he took his eyes off it.  
"Ruth," he whispered wonderingly, his heart thumping uncontrollably. A small laugh escaped him, borne of relief and realised hopes.

- 0 –

_Next day  
Near Matucana in Andes mountains, Peru_

Tom observed the building to which they had tailed Tessa through powerful binoculars. It had been easy after Zoe had proven that she'd lost none of her field skills by planting a tracker on Tessa's suitcase at the airport. He carefully traced the compound's layout on a piece of paper, annotating the rooms as far as he was able from his observations. It was an old Spanish fort, thick-walled and sturdy, and there were armed men moving around all the time. It was surrounded by a high wall topped with rolls of barbed wire.  
"What do you think?" he murmured to Zoe, who lay on her stomach next to him with the camera.  
"You'd need an army to storm the place and extract her," she replied, her disappointment undisguised.  
"I agree," Tom said. "We either need to get in there on some pretext, or we need to convince them to move her."  
"How are we going to get in there without ringing any alarm bells? Tessa knows both our faces."  
Tom swatted at a buzzing insect that seemed intent on crawling into his ear and sighed. She was right; they really had only one option. "I'll report back – let's see what Harry says."

Zoe kept watch while Tom slithered backwards until he was screened from the fort by a ridge, and made his way down the mountain to their base. It consisted of a camouflaged tent and a beat-up truck, and he unlocked the truck and retrieved an array of communications equipment from underneath a tarp in the passenger footspace. He took some time to formulate his report before he activated the recording device and delivered it in a measured tone. Finally he switched on the satellite phone and inserted the recording device into the slot at the bottom of the handset, and dialled the number he communicated with Malcolm on. Once the call connected, he pressed the button that sent the recorded message in a short burst before speedily disconnecting. It was over much too quickly for any trace to be put on the signal. He couldn't help but wonder what Harry would do. It was difficult to fathom what the man must be going through – Tom had no idea what it would do to a man to watch the woman he loved die in his arms, only to find out later that she was in fact still alive. It had the potential to seriously mess with someone's psyche, and he suspected that vengeance would be uppermost in Harry's mind. He would have to keep a careful eye on things to ensure that Harry's need for retribution did not endanger the ultimate aim of their mission. He grabbed some breakfast bars from their cache of food and headed back up. Until they heard back from London, their brief was simple: watch and wait.

- 0 –

Ruth sat on the mattress with her back propped against the wall. She closed her eyes and conjured up the rolling green fields of England, and imagined herself on the drive back to London from the cottage in Suffolk. As always when she indulged in this fantasy, Harry was there with her, doing the driving and contentedly humming along with whatever piece of music was playing on BBC3. Usually she would imagine the journey all the way through and into London, where she would picture them strolling along the South Bank, arm in arm. But something that her captor had said to her kept niggling away, and she opened her eyes with a sigh, regretfully letting Harry's face fade from her mind.

_I would much rather have had him, but you're not bad as second prizes go_, he'd said. That implied that she had not even been the real target – Harry was. It put a whole new light on matters. From the moment she'd regained consciousness and found herself in this cell, she had assumed that the intention was to use her to get to Harry somehow. But time had passed and her captor had shown no inclination to make his move, and she couldn't understand the delay. This piece of news could explain it; perhaps he'd had to change his plans when he got her instead of Harry. She tried to think of a way that she could use this to her advantage, but couldn't come up with anything. Already, at every opportunity that arose, she attempted to persuade the man that she was not important to Harry anymore, terrified of what he might want Harry to do in exchange for her safe return. She did not want another Albany on her conscience and had informed her captor that she had rejected Harry's marriage proposal and that he would subsequently not sacrifice anything important to get her back. However, the man had merely smiled secretively and continued to hold her hostage, which made her suspect that he knew about Albany.

Her thoughts went to Harry, and her heart broke at the memory of his fear and grief when he'd held her after the stabbing. If he believed her to be dead… How would he cope with that? Would he leave the Service; retire? Somehow she didn't think so. Harry had always seen it as his duty to honour the deaths of his officers by continuing the good fight, and he would probably react the same to her 'death'. Besides, the fact that she was still being kept in reserve would imply that Harry was in a position to deliver whatever it was that her unidentified captor wanted. She had seen his face before, but she could for the life of her not remember where. He was English, and for him to be so well-informed about Harry and MI5, she surmised that he was probably a former intelligence officer or asset. A couple of voices drifted towards her from outside the window, interrupting her thoughts. A man and a woman's, and they were speaking English. To date the only female voices she'd heard had been Spanish, so curiosity piqued, she quietly moved over to the window and listened.  
"I've just received some interesting information," the male voice said, and she recognised it as that of her captor.  
"It seems the reason the Evershed woman rejected Harry Pearce was because she was secretly seeing someone else."  
"What? Are you sure about this? How trustworthy is your source?" the female voice said, and a shiver ran down Ruth's spine. She knew that voice, and tiptoed up to the window and peeked out to confirm her suspicions. There, sitting close together on a bench in the garden, was her captor and Tessa Philips. It provided the prompt her brain needed and she was finally able to put a name to the man who had kidnapped her.

"I heard it from Oliver Mace himself," Johnny Marks said.  
"Who's the other man supposed to be?" Tessa asked sceptically.  
"You'll enjoy this," Johnny said, sounding amused. He drew out the moment before announcing, "It's the Home Secretary, William Towers."  
Tessa stared at him in amazement, before she started to laugh. "Oh, poor Harry," she exclaimed mockingly. "Cuckolded by his boss, and a politician to boot. Oh, the irony is too delicious for words."  
Ruth backed away from the window, her mind reeling. _William Towers_?! How could people think that she would choose him over Harry? She had never given anyone a reason to think that she was interested in Towers. Had she?

She sat back down on the mattress and thought about it analytically. She went over every interaction she could remember having with the Home Secretary, starting with the short conversation at the formal reception she had gone to with Harry. Now that she was no longer distracted by concerns over Elena Gavrik, she could look at their conversation that day, and at the subsequent dinner when he'd offered her a job, more objectively. She supposed if someone who did not know them had observed those interactions, and put it together with her subsequent move to Towers' staff, they could get the wrong impression. Towers had been somewhat flirty with her, if she were to be honest. She hadn't paid much attention – putting it down to the fact that he was a politician and couldn't help but try and use his charms on every woman who crossed his path. But now she wondered whether his intentions had been less pure than she had thought; perhaps others had seen what she had been oblivious to – too caught up in her and Harry's troubles to notice. Another thought came to her, and she wretchedly wondered whether this rumour had reached Harry's ears, and whether he believed it. She hoped with her whole being that he knew better – that he knew that she had only ever truly loved him. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than a chance to tell him that.

- 0 –

_Same day, evening  
Sunstrike Protocol safehouse, London_

When Erin arrived, the men of the team were already assembled. She took a seat next to Dimitri on the sofa and looked at Harry.  
"Let's get started," she said, eager to get back to Rosie.  
Harry glanced at her. "We're still waiting for someone."  
The team looked at each other, but before anyone could inquire about the identity of the mystery person, the door buzzer sounded. Harry pressed the button to unlock the door after a quick glance at the face on the security camera. Moments later Malcolm scurried in, apologising for keeping them waiting. Harry smiled warmly at the newcomer and made the introductions, before he explained, "Malcolm has been doing some work for me on this operation – under the radar."  
"Harry-" Erin began, clearly troubled by this development, but he held up a hand to silence her.  
"I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you," he admitted, and laid the image of Ruth on the coffee table before them.

Dimitri picked it up and looked at it closely. "When was this taken?"  
"Yesterday."  
Three pairs of eyes jumped to Harry incredulously.  
"I don't understand," Erin said, a trace of annoyance in her voice.  
"Ruth is alive," Harry stated. Every time he said it, it became more real, so he repeated, "She's alive."  
He explained succinctly, ignoring Erin's obvious indignance at having been kept out of the loop. Dimitri and Calum were smiling, happy for Ruth, happy for Harry.  
"Why keep this from us?" Erin demanded, and Harry smiled wearily. "Would you have believed me without proof, without this?"  
He tapped the picture once. "I needed you focussed on stopping Johnny Marks, not on my state of mind."  
She was still not happy, but let it go for the moment and got straight to business. "So if we can snatch Ruth back from Marks, it will put a spanner in the works of his plans."  
"I agree," Dimitri said. "Where is he holding her?"  
Malcolm reached into the backpack he'd brought with him. "In an old Spanish fort in the Andes mountains," he replied as he spread more photos on the table. "There are an estimated thirty armed men in the compound."

This news dampened the mood in the room considerably. Dimitri picked up a satellite image that showed the fort from above and studied it carefully, his mind effortlessly clicking into military mode.  
"An aerial assault could work," he suggested, looking up at Harry. "Bring in a Special Forces team by helicopter at night."  
Harry shook his head. "They'll hear the helicopter coming and you'll take heavy losses. No, we have to induce him to move her out of there somehow."  
"Teargas?" Dimitri suggested, and Harry looked appalled.  
"I think we should keep in mind that the Spanish often built secret exit tunnels from these forts," Malcolm said hastily. "So if Marks has to move her because they are under some sort of attack, he would likely use one of these and we'd lose them."  
Erin looked at Calum. "Can you get hold of the building plans?"  
"I already tried," Malcolm interjected. "They were destroyed in a fire in 1954."  
"So we have no way of knowing where these tunnels could lead to," Harry concluded, and Malcolm nodded.  
Harry's eyes went once again to the photo of Ruth. "I don't want some Wild West shootout; that will only endanger Ruth. We need a different approach – we must convince Marks to bring her to us."  
How do we do that?" Dimitri asked curiously.  
Harry lifted his eyes, and they were cold and hard.  
"We kidnap Tessa."

- 0 –

_Midnight  
Harry's house, London_

He lay in bed and stared at the dark ceiling. There was a chink in the curtains and every time a car passed in the street, a strip of light travelled across the wall. His eyes followed it automatically, but he didn't really see it. He was preoccupied with the plans they had laid to outmanoeuvre Johnny Marks. After the others had got over their shock at his suggestion, it was discussed in detail. Harry knew it was a viable idea and he stubbornly defended it against any opposition. He found an unexpected ally in Dimitri who, because of his military background, understood the dangers of an attempt on the fort better than anyone. In the end they had won over the others and the decision was made. Tom and Zoe would snatch Tessa at the first opportunity, and offer Marks a swap deal – Tessa for Ruth. Harry had also decided, in order to leave Marks no option but to accept the deal, to arrest the former intelligence officers they had traced via the payments from Marks' account as soon as they had Tessa. He wanted Marks to know that his plan to assassinate the PM, the Home Secretary and the Foreign Secretary had failed. Harry fretted over the operation, worrying at it from every perceivable angle, trying to find a flaw. His biggest concern was that Marks did not trust him and would suspect a double-cross. If he knew that Harry was behind the plan to snatch Tessa, he would in all probability put his own double-cross in place, and that posed a grave danger to Ruth's life. Harry had therefore insisted that they should make it look as though Towers was behind the plan to snatch Tessa. He had to take himself out of the equation as convincingly as possible in order to prevent Marks' hatred of him from endangering Ruth.  
_Bloody Johnny Marks and bloody Tessa_, he thought savagely. They were a dangerous combination, and he had come to the conclusion that they had to be stopped. And, as he had informed Marks all those years ago, he did his own dirty work.

He sighed and purposely forced his thoughts away from the odious couple. Inevitably they moved to Ruth and the fact that he might soon see her again. Ever since it had been confirmed that she was alive, every minute that he remained apart from her was pure agony. He wanted to touch her, to hold her against him, to breathe in her scent. It had become an aching, all-consuming need that he could no longer suppress, and for a few minutes he allowed himself to wallow in it.  
_Soon_, he promised himself, ignoring the niggling worry that something could still go wrong and wreck everything. And that was when he heard it.

The sound of breaking glass. From the kitchen. He frowned and got out of bed to investigate, grabbing the gun from the drawer next to the bed. He switched on the hall light and moved towards the kitchen, gun held out in front of him. He wasn't afraid. He switched on the living room light and swept his eyes over it. It was empty. He turned, and found himself face to face with two men clad in dark clothes and balaclavas. The one held a shotgun and it was pointed straight at his face. He saw the finger curl around the trigger, and at that moment he did feel a flash of paralysing fear. The shot was deafening in the enclosed space.

- 0 –

Next door, Harry's elderly neighbour sat bolt upright in bed.  
"That was a shotgun blast," he told his wife.  
"Don't be silly," she said sleepily, "who would be crazy enough to discharge a shotgun in the middle of London? It was probably just a truck backfiring. Go back to sleep, dear."  
He ignored her and went to the window. He noticed that the streetlight opposite their neighbour's house was out, and he frowned. It had definitely worked earlier that evening. As he watched, two dark-clad figures ran from the house and jumped into a car. It sped away smoothly, and he was filled with a feeling of dread.  
"Call the police," he instructed his wife as he hastily pulled on his dressing gown and rushed outside. He approached the house cautiously. The front door stood wide open and the hall light spilt out onto the front step. He reached it and looked inside. A prone figure lay in the passage and he moved closer fearfully. He needed only one look at the blood pooling by the head to know that his neighbour was dead.

_tbc_


	7. Chapter 7

_After midnight  
Harry's house, London_

William Towers stood in the middle of the living room whilst police and SOCO personnel swirled around him. He was ashen-faced and his eyes kept straying to the covered body before he tore his gaze away with an anguished look. Erin joined him, and when she spoke her voice wavered.  
"It looks like a common robbery gone wrong," she said, and Towers jerked his head around to her.  
"Don't be ridiculous!" he snapped, and a few gazes turned to them curiously.  
"Harry Pearce does not die in a common robbery gone wrong! He goes out in a blaze of glory, not shot in the face in his pyjamas." He gestured at the corpse before covering his eyes with the same hand.  
Erin laid a hand on his arm. "Home Secretary, please," she said softly, and when he looked up there was worry in her expression. Behind her a stretcher was rolled in and they watched in silence as the body was lifted onto it and wheeled out.  
Towers sighed and began to follow. "I'll do the identification," he mumbled, embarrassed by his outburst. "You stay here and make sure nothing untoward is found by the plods."  
Erin nodded, and moved over to the senior Met Commander that had been dispatched to investigate this high-profile case.  
"Hello, Marcus. Have you signed the Official Secrets Act yet?" she asked without preamble. When Marcus lifted a surprised eyebrow, she took his arm and led him aside.  
"Let's talk."

- 0 –

_Mid-morning  
Near Matucana in Andes mountains, Peru_

Ruth was in the midst of her daily exercise regimen – a desperate attempt to fill the long empty hours - when the door swung open. Johnny Marks stood in it, looking at her with a curious mixture of euphoria and disappointment. She could feel the suppressed energy emanating from him and knew immediately that something significant had happened or was about to happen. Her heart began hammering in her chest – had the time come for him to use her for whatever purpose he had for her? She backed up until she could feel the reassuring solidness of the wall pressing against her shoulders and braced herself.  
"I have some news for you," Marks announced, watching her intently. Whatever he was about to say, he was very interested in what her reaction would be, and Ruth steeled herself to give nothing away.  
"Harry Pearce is dead," he announced. "Last night a robber shot him in the face with a shotgun in his own house. You have to appreciate the irony, don't you? Just as I was about to give him a chance to get you back. But then, perhaps they did him a favour, seeing as you're now the Home Secretary's piece on the side."

Ruth had heard nothing after the word 'dead'. Her world had stopped turning, and she felt faint and nauseous. It couldn't be. Harry could not be dead. She simply could not fathom the world without Harry's towering presence in it. No, Harry could _not_ be dead. The rest of Marks' words finally registered, and she couldn't help but blanch. Shot by a common burglar in his house. So he was not even granted a heroic last stand, or a last big patriotic gesture. _Oh, Harry_. A tear escaped and began to trickle slowly down her cheek.  
"How do you know?" she dared to ask.  
"The same friendly Coroner that declared you dead did the post mortem on him." He paused thoughtfully.  
"You seem pretty distraught for someone who's now shagging William Towers."  
Ruth wiped the tear away roughly. "I don't need to be in love with Harry to be moved by his death," she retorted angrily. "Unlike you I still have some compassion."  
Marks half-smiled as Tessa appeared behind his shoulder. He turned around and looked at her. "What do you think, Tess? Does not mourning the death of Harry Pearce mean that I have lost all compassion?"  
Tessa looked past him to Ruth. "No, darling. Why should you mourn the death of a man who had caused so much misery to everyone near him?"  
Even through her grief Ruth recognised that they were trying to provoke her and bit back her instinctive desire to defend Harry. Instead she focussed on her anger at the callousness of these people, and the tears dried up. She lifted her chin defiantly.  
"So what happens now?"  
"Oh, I think some champagne is called for," Tessa said cruelly. "I'll run into town and get some."  
"Mmm," Marks agreed.  
Fury flashed in Ruth's eyes and she resolved that, if she ever got the chance, she would make them pay. For possibly the first time in her life, she wished for an opportunity to kill another human being.  
"As for you," Marks said to Ruth, "you'll still come in handy. We'll see how keen your new boyfriend is to get you back."

The door closed behind them, but Ruth didn't move. She stood with the coolness of the wall against her shoulder blades, waiting to see if they'd come back. Ten minutes passed and she finally moved, sliding down the wall until she was sat on the floor. She pulled her knees to her chest, and then the tears came. Careful not to let more than a whimper slip out, she clamped both hands over her mouth to smother the sounds of her anguished crying as one thought looped through her head: Harry was dead.

- 0 –

Zoe was on watch and observed the fort through the binoculars. The instructions from London had come through early that morning - they were to snatch Tessa at the first opportunity. Zoe had been flabbergasted, but she could tell that Tom wasn't particularly surprised. When she'd confronted him about it, he had looked away over the valley for a moment.  
"You know Harry does not tolerate the targeting of his people, Zoe," he responded at length. "And this is Ruth, the woman he adores. Did you for one moment think that he would let them get away with it without any sort of retribution?"  
Zoe had shaken her head. "I just… I still remember the Harry who used to lecture us about keeping personal matters out of it. I don't know this man, the one who would sacrifice everything to save one woman, simply because he loves her."  
Tom smiled. "It is kind of weird, isn't it? When he approached me after Ruth's death, I barely recognised him. He was somehow more… human than I remembered. You know?"  
"So you're willing to do this?" she had challenged, and Tom had nodded immediately.  
"It's a good plan, Zoe. It offers the best chance to get Ruth back without sacrificing a handful of Special Forces blokes."

As she lay there watching the movements in the fort, she was still somewhat uneasy with it. For seven years now she had lived a normal life – she had an honourable job, shaping young minds; she loved her husband and tried to instil in her kids the principles of respect for others and doing the right thing. Yet here she was, about to do something that goes against all that she taught them. She grimaced; the lure of her previous life had proved stronger than she expected. Zoe had thought that it had left her for good, but the chance to once again experience the excitement, the rush of adrenaline brought about by imminent danger, had been irresistible. She wondered briefly whether she would have been more willing to refuse if the target had not been Tessa, the woman who had been responsible for the first big disillusionment of Zoe's life. Before she could analyse her motivations further, there was movement in the courtyard of the fort. Tessa and Johnny Marks stepped out into the sunshine and kissed before Tessa got into a car and drove off. The heavy gates swung shut behind her. Zoe grabbed the walkie-talkie and gave Tom three clicks: _Target was on the move_. She received one click of acknowledgement back, and scrambled backwards and down the mountain as fast as she could.

- 0 –

Ruth lay flat on her back on the mattress and stared unseeingly at the grey ceiling. She didn't know how much time had passed since Marks had given her the news, but her tears had dried up for the time being. Her thoughts, though, never left the man who now no longer walked this earth. She felt desolate, abandoned, and realised that she had subconsciously held onto the hope that Harry would figure out what was going on and would come for her. But now he was dead, and he would never again come for her. What made it worse was that there was nothing to take her mind off thoughts of his death. She was locked in this bare room and had nothing to do but pace around its circumference and stare out the window. Had Harry died believing that she had betrayed him with Towers, she wondered? Surely not – the last thing she remembered was asking him to leave the Service to build a life with her. She was still baffled about the origins of the rumour about her and the Home Secretary. It was a trivial thing to worry about in the light of subsequent developments, but it provided some relief from the crushing sorrow that filled her heart with every thought of Harry. And, she knew, it was the main reason Marks was keeping her alive even though he could no longer use her against Harry-

She sat up, sudden irrational hope flooding her. Could that be it? Could this all be an elaborate plot to deceive Marks? If that were the case, then perhaps Harry was not dead after all.

- 0 –

_Mid-morning  
Brize Norton, London_

The Home Secretary strode into the private waiting area and was smartly saluted by the soldier guarding the door. He stopped inside the door and stared at the back of the man stood by the window. Despite all that had happened, the shoulders were still broad, still straight. He might be battered and bloodied by a lifetime of service, but Harry Pearce remained unbowed. And just for a second, he fervently hoped that it would all work out well.  
He said, "Alan Lewis dutifully found that the dead man is indeed Harry Pearce."  
Harry turned around and stated coldly, "I never doubted that he would. How is Erin coping at the scene?"  
"Fine, especially now that I'm no longer there, I suspect," Towers responded and smiled ruefully. "I fear I might have overdone the role-playing."  
Harry said with a straight face, "I'm sure you were magnificent," and Towers couldn't help the small thrill of satisfaction the words engendered.  
He watched Harry for a moment, before he stepped forward with an outstretched hand. "Good luck, Harry," he said sincerely. "I hope that you get her back safely and stop this dangerous man to boot."  
They shook hands warmly, and Harry was unexpectedly moved by the gesture.  
"Thank you, William," he murmured, aware that in this moment they were not their respective offices, but merely two men who respected and liked each other.  
The door opened and an Air Force officer nodded at Harry, who picked up his small bag and followed the officer out. Towers went to the window and watched Harry walk across the tarmac to the military transport plane that would take him to Peru. He stayed there until the plane had lifted off and disappeared above the clouds.

- 0 –

_Road between Chaclacayo and Matucana, Peru_

Tessa drove back to the fort, lost in thought. It had taken longer to find a bottle of champagne than she had anticipated. The small town of Matucana nearest to Johnny's hideout did not have any and she had been forced to drive to the bigger Chaclacayo about fifty miles further. Still, she considered the occasion worth the effort. She felt no sympathy over the death of Harry Pearce. He had thrown her to the wolves, had been unwilling to show her any mercy, and she returned the favour now. In a sense she was disappointed that Johnny would not get the chance to destroy Harry personally, but the end product was the same and that was the most important. Harry Pearce had died a lonely, heartbroken man and that knowledge provided its own satisfaction. She came up behind a battered old truck that crawled along just as she was about to enter the twisty part of the road as it wound up the mountain, and sighed. Typical. Peruvians in general drove as if the devil were in hot pursuit, but she always seemed to get stuck behind one of the few cautious drivers on this stretch of road. They rounded the first bend seemingly barely moving and Tessa made an exasperated sound. There would be no place to pass for at least five miles. A van had come up behind her and she glanced in the rearview mirror, expecting to see an irate local who would no doubt recklessly charge past both her car and the truck irrespective of the blind turn up ahead. She never expected what happened next.

Just before the bend the truck suddenly stopped and the van behind her pulled right up to her bumper and nudged her into the truck, boxing her in. There was nowhere to go. Before she could even get her door open, a man stood next to her car and pointed a gun at her.  
"Get out slowly, Tessa," he said, and despite the fact that his eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, she immediately recognised the face of Tom Quinn.

- 0 –

_Four hours later  
Outskirts of Lima, Peru_

Tessa was had no idea where she was. She had only seen Tom, but she knew there were at least two of them. Tom had blindfolded her and tossed her none too gently in the back of the van, and it had driven off. She'd tried to keep track of the time, but Tom had removed her wristwatch and she had no idea how long they had driven, or in what direction. None of her attempts to engage him in conversation had worked and the drive was completed in silence. Finally the van stopped and she was hauled upright. Two pairs of hands guided her out of the van and across what felt like a lawn. She heard a door open and was led inside and into a room. She heard a door close and lock, and then her binds were loosened and the blindfold removed. She blinked in the sudden light and after a few seconds her eyes managed to focus. The first thing she saw was Tom Quinn standing a few feet away, arms folded across his chest, cold blue eyes fixed on her. Other than that, the room held a bed and a desk with a chair. Tessa turned around and behind her the window was blocked by burglar bars. She turned back to Tom.  
"Tom Quinn," she drawled with a sardonic smile. "I thought you got a conscience and didn't want to be involved in these distasteful things anymore."  
Tom remained impassive. "I'm willing to make an exception for you."  
Her eyes flashed and she once again looked around herself, buying time. This was the sort of thing Harry bloody Pearce would order, but he was dead. Wasn't he?  
"So you're still doing Harry's dirty work for him then?" she probed.  
Tom's mouth twitched and he blinked rapidly. "Harry's dead, Tessa."  
He sounded genuinely moved and she relaxed somewhat. She was confident that Johnny could outwit Tom Quinn and whoever else was here, but she was less sure that he could once again outwit Harry. Her former boss had been an astute man with a brilliant mind for the darker side of intelligence work, and he was probably the only man she truly feared. But now that he was dead…  
Tom was speaking again. "Make yourself at home. By now Johnny would have realised something is wrong, so I have to go and make the call. Put his mind at ease."  
"Johnny won't give you Ruth for me just like that," she snarled at Tom's back.  
"Hm," Tom responded thoughtfully as he turned back to her. "I rather think he will. MI5 knows all about his little plan and are rounding up his men as we speak."  
He smirked at her shocked expression and left the room.

- 0 –

When the phone rang, Marks snatched it up immediately. "Yes," he said through gritted teeth. He was not in the best of moods – word of the arrests of the former intelligence officers he had lined up had begun to filter through, and on top of that Tessa had disappeared. He was experienced enough to realise immediately that the two developments had to be connected and it meant only one thing: the Security Services were onto him.  
"Hello, Johnny," an English voice said cheerily. "William Towers would like to have Ruth Evershed back. Alive and unharmed, if you don't mind."  
Johnny took a few deep breaths to quell the helplessness and anger.  
"Now why would I just hand her back to him?"  
"Oh, naturally we wouldn't expect you to do that, not for nothing. We'll give you something in return, of course. Tessa Philips?"  
For the first time in many years Marks felt genuine fear, but none of it was evident in his voice.  
"I'm not about to simply take your word for it that you have Tessa."  
"I can understand that," the voice said. "Here, have a word with her."  
There was a few seconds of silence before Tessa's voice came to him.  
"Johnny?"  
He closed his eyes as her voice washed over him.  
"Tessa. You okay?"  
"Yes. It's not Harry," she said quickly. "Tom Quinn has me-"  
Her voice was cut off abruptly and Tom came back on the line. "We'll be in touch, Johnny."  
The line went dead, and Johnny Marks immediately began to plot his counter-moves.

- 0 –

_Late that night  
Bogota, Colombia_

The Serpent sat in the smoky bar and sipped his beer slowly. He wasn't a big drinker, but he liked to sit here and watch the people around him. He was an observer, a man who liked to move in the shadows, and possibly the best freelance assassin operating today. He was waiting for a call from a prospective client, a man who came with impeccable credentials and was recommended to him by the head of one of the biggest drug cartels. The mobile that lay on the table chirped and he scooped it up.  
"Wait," he said curtly and moved through the door to the parking lot.  
"Sí," he said once he was outside in the quiet.  
"Evening," an English voice said. "I want to make use of your services."  
"Sí," the serpent said once more. He spoke perfectly good English, but liked to make potential clients sweat.  
The Englishman, though, remained unperturbed. "Two people," the voice said. "Long range shots, possibly in high altitude. Peru. You're familiar with shooting in high altitude?"  
The Serpent was impressed that the man knew the impact of altitude on the art of the sniper, and became more communicative. He responded, in English, "I am familiar. I've done it before, successfully."  
He thought for a moment, then said, "Fifty thousand."  
There was no hesitation. "Agreed."  
They discussed the details and agreed method of payment, and the call was disconnected. The Serpent felt the first frisson of excitement flare in his gut; he was going hunting in the mountains of Peru.

_tbc_


	8. Chapter 8

_Next morning  
Lima, Peru_

Tom and Zoe were in the kitchen when a car pulled up outside. Tom immediately picked up his gun and moved to the window next to the door. A man got out of the car, making sure that his face was clearly visible, and Tom relaxed. He opened the door.  
"Hello Malcolm."  
Malcolm nodded in greeting. "Give me a hand would you?"  
Together they ferried the cases of equipment to the house. When they were done Zoe emerged from the kitchen with cups of coffee and a broad smile.  
"Zoe!" Malcolm exclaimed and instinctively hugged her. When he realised what he was doing, he stepped back with a bashful grin. "Sorry."  
"Are you kidding?" Zoe laughed. "It's so great to see you all again."  
She reached out and squeezed his arm. "It gives me a chance to thank you for enabling Harry to send me messages."  
"Oh, well," Malcolm said, almost blushing, "just doing my job."  
Tom stood by, indulgently watching his two colleagues' reunion, but all too aware that time was of the essence.  
"Where's Harry?" he asked once he deemed that they had had enough time to reconnect.  
"He said he had some things to take care of, and that it would be better not to show his face here and risk the possibility of Tessa seeing or hearing him."  
Tom nodded. "All right. Did he leave instructions about the swap?"  
"Yes. He wants it to take place this afternoon at five, on the Lacrapucro plateau."  
Malcolm opened a topographic map of Peru on the dining table and pointed at a spot high in the mountains. It was about twenty miles from the fort where Ruth was being held.  
"You're to call Marks now and tell him to be ready by four this afternoon. Then, at four, we give him the location and instruct him to approach from the south."  
They all stared at the map. The plateau was flanked by high cliffs on the eastern side, and dropped away sharply in the west. There was a gravel road that ran along its length, and if one could control the approaches from the north and the south, it was almost impregnable.  
"It's a good choice," Tom said approvingly. "Right, who wants to go and tell Tessa?"  
"No!" Zoe said vehemently.  
"Good Lord, no," Malcolm stated simultaneously.  
Tom laughed and stood to go and make the call to Marks.

- 0 –

_Same time  
American embassy, Lima_

Harry waited patiently in the reception area. He was surprised by his own calmness; this day, after all, could turn out to be one of the most pivotal of his life. A tall redhead approached and he stood with a lopsided smile.  
"Good morning, Laurie."  
"Harry Pearce," she marvelled. "You're a long way from home, aren't you? And you look pretty good for a dead man."  
Harry looked around; news travelled fast, it seemed. "You know what Churchill said, Laurie: A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on. This is a bit of a step back from London for an ambitious CIA officer, isn't it?" he countered.  
She laughed. "I see you haven't lost any of your charm. You know damn well why I'm stuck here. What do you expect when you cause me to lose Mohammed Khordad?"  
"You lot got him in the end, didn't you?" Harry said testily, still annoyed at the CIA's decision to shoot down Khordad's plane.  
"Yes. We always get our man, even if it takes ten years," Laurie responded smugly.  
She turned away and added, "Come on up, Harry. I'm sure you didn't fake your death just to come and reminisce about our brief non-collaboration whilst I was stationed in London."

Harry followed her through the corridors and waited whilst she punched a code into a security door. It swung open and she led the way into the CIA offices. Four desks were spaced around a large open-space office, two of them occupied. There was an office at the back and Laurie headed towards it.  
"Jen, can we have some coffee?" she asked one of the desk occupants, and turned towards Harry. "Or would you like tea?"  
Harry shuddered at the thought of American tea and hastily said, "No, coffee is fine. Thank you," he smiled at Jen and the young woman blushed.  
Laurie rolled her eyes, conveniently forgetting that she had also once thought that smile rather sexy.  
Once they were settled, she looked at Harry over the rim of her cup. "So, what brings you to Peru?"  
"A former agent called Johnny Marks, with designs to assassinate the Prime Minister, and Foreign and Home Secretaries."  
Laurie's eyebrows rose. "Ambitious man."  
"Quite. We have lured him to a meeting on the Lacrapucro plateau this afternoon, and I would like you to give my technological officer access to your satellite that monitors this part of the world."  
Laurie's eyes sparkled; she seemed delighted at the prospect of some action, and said, "Actually, I can do you one better."  
For the next hour they discussed, haggled and planned, until they had an agreement they were both comfortable with.

Not once did Harry mention Ruth's name or her presence in Peru.

- 0 -

Ruth stood by the window, from where she could see a corner of the courtyard. There was an urgency and energy to the armed men that milled around and she wondered what was going on. Was Marks about to implement his plan? She wished she knew what it was all about. Even as she observed the goings-on, part of her mind kept worrying at the puzzle of Harry's death. She was well aware that she might be grasping at straws, but the more she analysed it, the more reasons she found for optimism. Surely Harry was too wily a customer to be caught unprepared in his own house. And the man that had confirmed that it was Harry was the same coroner that had declared her dead, so how trustworthy was he really? If Harry had found out about Marks' plan, he would know that the coroner had lied to him, and would be in a position to use that to his advantage. She hoped with all her heart that she was right about this; she simply didn't want to accept the possibility that she would never see him again. Her scalp itched and she scratched it unconsciously. It had been three days since her last shower but she was no longer conscious of the dirt. When one's existence was narrowed down to simple survival, matters like appearance and hygiene suddenly mattered little.

The key scraped in the lock and she turned around to find Johnny Marks standing in the door. Though he was adept at hiding his emotions, she could detect barely suppressed rage in his demeanour. He watched her silently for a few seconds, and there was a hardness in his gaze that made her uncomfortable. Truth be told, until now she hadn't feared that he would be violent towards her, but something seemed to have changed and she was once again reminded what a dangerous man he was. She swallowed fearfully.  
"I seem to have underestimated your importance to William Towers," he said, anger seeping through the words.  
Ruth didn't say anything; it seemed the safest course of action at the moment.  
He continued, "He appears to have taken some lessons in underhanded ruthlessness from Harry Pearce."  
Ruth's heart leaped. She who knew both men so well, was convinced that any underhandedness would be Harry's brainchild. Towers could be politically ruthless when required, but he certainly did not have the same stomach for dark deeds that Harry did. She took it as yet another sign that Harry was alive and driving everything. However, she made very sure that none of these thoughts showed on her face.  
"We'll be going on a little trip this afternoon," Marks revealed, his mouth set grimly. "It will all be over soon."  
He left without waiting for a reaction, and Ruth stared after him pensively, an uncomfortable feeling growing in her gut. The way he said those last words, she was convinced that he was planning something bad.

- 0 -

_16:30  
Lacrapucro Plateau, Peru_

Tom stood next to the van and surveyed his surroundings. The plateau was a dry stretch of land with not a single plant in evidence. To his right the land fell away sharply and in the far distance he could detect the shimmer of the ocean. It was amazing to think that the eastern side of the mountain was covered in lush vegetation and the beginnings of the Amazon rainforest whilst the western side was basically a desert, but he was not here to contemplate the vagaries of nature. To his left tall sheer cliffs rose into the sky. From up there one would command a view of the whole plateau, but they had not given Marks enough time to get someone up there. Or so he hoped. Above him the sky stretched forever, an impossible blue. Somewhere up there, but invisible to the naked eye, was the American spy plane that held Malcolm. By five o'clock the sun would begin to dip towards the ocean somewhere over his right shoulder, and it would be right in the eyes of someone approaching from the south. Yes, Harry had chosen well. The only thing that concerned him was that there was only the one access road, and they would have to leave by this same route and leave themselves open to ambush. They had a contingency plan in place, but it remained risky, and they could still be vulnerable depending on the type of weaponry their opponents possessed.

Tom returned to the van and opened the back doors. He clambered in and removed Tessa's blindfold reluctantly. Her tongue had lost none of its sharpness and she had needled him at every opportunity, playing on his perceived weak spots. Zoe, sat behind the wheel, watched with interest and some trepidation. She had kept away from Tessa until now, so this would be the first time Tessa would learn of her involvement. The older woman looked around her, her eyes skipping over Tom as though he wasn't there, showing her disdain. They fastened on Zoe and stayed there. She couldn't quite hide her surprise at seeing the other woman.  
"Not in jail then?" she sneered, and Zoe realised that Tessa had been unaware that she hadn't served a single day of her sentence.  
Thinking quickly, she responded, "The Home Secretary gave me an early release, provided I help him get Ruth back."  
_Good save_, Tom thought approvingly, but decided all the same to save Zoe any further grilling.  
"Zoe, would you do a comms check?"  
Zoe nodded and quickly got out, thankful for the escape.  
Tessa's gaze now returned to Tom, thoughtful and calculating. "It looks like this is a regular old boys' reunion. Let me guess, you have Malcolm on comms?"  
Tom didn't react, so she continued, "The only people we're missing here are Harry and Danny. I guess they really must be dead."

It was a cheap shot and Tom felt the anger boiling inside. How unfair life was – people like Tessa and Johnny Marks got to live and inflict their dark deeds on the world, while true heroes like Danny died tragically young. Suddenly he hoped that Harry was planning a more permanent retribution on Tessa and Marks. The thought comforted him and he bit back his anger.  
"Not long now, Tessa, and I will be mercifully rid of you. That is if your boyfriend decides you're worth the risk."  
He might as well have a little fun himself, he thought with a smirk.  
Tessa's face clouded momentarily and she snapped, "You wouldn't understand what Johnny and I have."  
"No, you're right. You two are a regular Bonnie and Clyde. Since I'm not a criminal myself, I wouldn't understand that."  
"You keep telling yourself you're not a criminal, Tom," she retorted. "But think about this: you've killed people, and right now you're up to your neck in a kidnapping. You're a regular saint," she concluded sarcastically.  
They glared at each other, and the tension in the van could be cut with a knife when Zoe got in. She glanced between them warily.  
"Comms are up and running," she said and looked at Tom. "Ten minutes, Tom."  
He tore his eyes from Tessa and nodded curtly. Only once he was outside again, away from Tessa, did he feel able to breathe fully.

- 0 –

Johnny slowed down as he neared the plateau. He'd been told to come alone, so Ruth was the only other occupant in the vehicle. She sat quietly next to him, blindfolded and hands bound before her. Over the last few days he had spent a lot of time wondering what it was about her that could motivate two such powerful men as Harry Pearce and William Towers to risk their careers for her. He loved Tessa, but would he give up everything for her? To his shame he wasn't certain that the answer to that was affirmative. In a sense they had simplified the decision for him by foiling his main plan, so that there really was no other option but to get Tessa back and give the Home Secretary something to think about. Johnny wanted him to live with the knowledge that he, Johnny Marks, was out there, and that he would try again some day. He turned the last corner and rolled onto the plateau slowly, his eyes flitting everywhere. The only visible sign of life was the van parked at the northern end. Johnny brought the vehicle to a stop a hundred yards away, never taking his eyes off the man that stood next to it, a gun in his hand. He recognised Tom Quinn. The driver was silhouetted by the setting sun and he couldn't make out the face, but he thought it looked like a woman. Turning finally to Ruth, he removed the blindfold.  
"This is the end for you, Ruth," he said, nodding in the direction of the van.

She looked at Marks and felt a flash of all-consuming panic. What did he mean by that? Was he about to have her killed? Marks and her cell in the fort she knew; the entity awaiting her at the other end of the plateau was the unknown and therefore imminently more dangerous. Marks seemed to read her thoughts and smirked before he got out and walked around the car. As he did so, Ruth lifted her eyes and focussed on the lone figure standing next to the van. It wasn't Harry – the figure was too tall – and her heart fell. What did this mean? If this was a rescue operation, why hadn't he come for her himself? Was he truly dead? She took a deep breath and told herself severely not to jump to conclusions. Perhaps it was all part of the plan. Marks opened the door and helped her out, but did not loosen her binds. She squinted at the figure again and a wave of relief passed through her as she recognised Tom. The man she once idolised might have fallen from grace, but she was convinced that he would never become a traitor. He had to be there to save her, hopefully on Harry's behalf.

Johnny led her a few steps away from the car and called out, "Show me Tessa."  
Ruth's head whipped around and she stared at him. _So that's what they did_.  
Tom pulled Tessa out of the back and stood with her by his side, and Johnny nodded, satisfied. He pushed Ruth in the back and murmured, "Off you go, darling. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts."  
Across from them, Tom released Tessa and the two women began to walk towards each other.

- 0 -

From high up on the cliff, the Serpent tracked their progress through his crosshairs. He was not entirely comfortable with the situation, for he was not alone. The client had insisted on sending a man with him, and the Serpent had agreed because the client had been willing to pay handsomely for it. The assassin didn't like people to know what he looked like, but figured there would be time afterwards to get rid of the man now lying quietly next to him and watching developments through a pair of binoculars. Down below, the two men each stood about fifteen metres away from their vehicles, waiting for the women to reach them. As the two women met in the middle, the taller one spoke briefly to the other, who looked shocked by the words. As the women reached the men, he felt the observer next to him tense.  
"The man first," he reminded the Serpent, whose crosshairs were already fixed in the middle of the face. Headshots, he'd been ordered, because they would likely wear bulletproof vests. Both pairs began to retreat to their vehicles. When they'd taken four paces towards it, the observer commanded, "Now."  
Two shots rang out, and both hit their targets perfectly.

_tbc_


	9. Chapter 9

_A few minutes earlier  
Lacrapucro Plateau, Peru_

Ruth walked towards Tom, fighting the urge to break into a run. The back of her neck prickled with every step she took, half-expecting a bullet between her shoulder-blades. Tessa was walking briskly towards her, a contemptuous expression fixed on her face. Irritatingly she only looked mildly dishevelled, and Ruth suddenly became painfully aware of her own physical state. She smothered the thought and shifted her gaze to Tom, her salvation. It was hard to make out his expression with the sun right behind him, but she was certain his eyes never moved from Johnny Marks. She made sure to walk straight so that she wouldn't inadvertently block his line of sight to her captor. So many things flitted through her mind during those few seconds it took to cross from one man to the other that, even with a gun to her head she would later be unable to unpick them all.

Tessa drew level with her and turned her head slightly. "I hope Towers is worth it, because your former knight in shining armour really is dead," she said before striding past with a low laugh.  
Ruth's step faltered momentarily and the colour drained from her face. No. It couldn't be… She had to get to Tom. Tom would know.

Tessa reached Marks a few seconds before Ruth reached Tom and smiled warmly at him. "I hope you're not going to let the bastards get away with this?"  
He took her hand and drew her towards the car. "Don't worry. I have a little surprise organised for them."  
He looked over her shoulder and saw that the Evershed woman had reached Quinn.

Tom still refused to take his eyes off Marks, even after Ruth had reached him safely. His earpiece crackled and Malcolm's voice came through, thin and tinny.  
"Two trucks holding about twenty men have formed a barricade across the road behind you, Tom. Go to plan B, I repeat plan B."  
"Understood," he responded and then Ruth was clutching at his arm.  
"Tom, they said… They said Harry-"  
"Not now, Ruth," he hissed, before swiftly turning and marching her towards the van, and arm slung around her. She could see the bulletproof vest under his jacket as he walked behind her, shielding her from Marks. His face was a picture of concentration, and she could swear that he was counting his steps. When they had taken five he suddenly flung her onto the ground and covered her body with his own, and somewhere in between the sensation of falling, hitting the ground rather hard and shrieking in surprise as Tom's weight came down on top of her and knocked the wind out of her, she heard the two shots.

- 0 –

High up on the cliffs, Harry watched everything unfold as if in slow motion. The moment Marks had pulled Ruth out of the car and he saw her for the first time with his own eyes, gloriously alive, he had to swallow back tears. It was true. Everything was true. Ruth was still in the world, she still drew breath. In that moment he forgave Sasha all that had gone before, knowing that without the young Russian's courage he would not be looking at the face of the woman he loved right then. He had to force himself to pull the binoculars away from her, to concentrate on the full picture, but he did so resolutely, fearful that this miracle could still be ruined. He watched as Tessa said something to Ruth and saw Ruth blanch at the words, and his mouth set in a grim line. He observed Marks and Tessa's reunion with a black heart, and heard Malcolm's warning to Tom over his own earpiece. He focussed on Tom and Ruth and counted the steps they took, and when he got to four he told the Serpent next to him, "Now."

- 0 –

Tessa saw the black round hole appear above Johnny's left eye the millisecond before the force of the bullet flung him backwards, and in that fraction of time she knew. Even before the rapport of the shot reached them she felt hot metal tear through her own heart, and she knew. As she fell next to the dead body of her lover and laboured for a few more breaths, she knew. She stared up at the blue sky for the last few seconds of her life, her mind filled with only one thought. Harry Pearce was alive, and he had outplayed them. She died with his name on her lips, a final whispered curse on the bane of her life.

- 0 –

Ruth tried desperately to draw some oxygen into her starved lungs, but all she succeeded in doing was to inhale a mouthful of dust. She started coughing, gasping for breath as Tom hauled her upright somewhat roughly. He smacked her unceremoniously between the shoulder blades and it did the trick – her airwaves suddenly opened and air streamed in. As she wiped the tears from her eyes she became aware of a new sound; the thump of helicopter blades. It was all happening so fast – she simultaneously noticed another face she had last seen years ago, but there was no time to talk. Zoe grinned a quick hello before grabbing Ruth's arm and beginning to run towards the centre of the plateau, whilst Tom lagged behind and covered their rear.  
Malcolm said in their earpieces, "The trucks are coming – they must have heard the shots."  
A black helicopter lifted over the mountain and set down on the plateau, its rotors whipping up a mini sandstorm.  
"Come on!" Zoe yelled and dragged Ruth towards it. They forged through the dust and hands grabbed them and hauled them onboard. In the midst of the melee Ruth noticed an American flag on the black flightsuit of the man that dragged her inside. Tom had barely got in when it lifted again sharply. As it banked and turned away Ruth looked down to see two trucks roar onto the plateau, bristling with men armed to the teeth. And she saw two bodies, motionless in the dust and falling dusk. Johnny Marks and Tessa Philips would not blight the world with their dark presence any more.

Ruth blinked against the unexpected tears that welled up. It was over, her three months of hell was finally over. She felt a hand on her arm and turned to find Zoe smiling at her, and the two women impulsively embraced. They clung to each other, and the human contact comforted Ruth beyond description. Without letting Zoe go, she turned her head towards Tom and stretched out a hand towards him. He grasped it, and she squeezed his hand and mouthed 'thank you'. Tom nodded in acknowledgement, the clamour of the helicopter making conversation difficult. He saw Ruth's eyes widen suddenly and fill with panic, and she yelled above the noise, "Tom, Harry? Is he…"  
"Fine!" he yelled back. "Harry's alive, Ruth. He sent us."  
She sagged in relief, and then the tears came in earnest, and Zoe continued to hold her.

- 0 –

Harry watched with relief as the helicopter lifted and swept her away safely. He laughed as he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. Ruth was safe. She was alive, and safe with Tom and Zoe and soon he would-  
"Harry!" Malcolm's frantic voice screamed a warning in his ear, and he opened his eyes to see the Serpent standing over him, sniper rifle pointed squarely at his chest. Cold fingers squeezed around his heart and he stopped breathing. _Not now_, he thought desperately. _Not now that I'm so close to having another chance with Ruth…_  
He found his voice. "This is no way to treat a paying customer," he chided, suppressing his fear.  
The Serpent shrugged. "You have seen my face. You must die."  
Harry forced himself to draw a lungful of air, and when he spoke his voice was rock-steady. "Oh, I know more than your face, Alejandro."  
At the mention of his real name, the assassin took a step back and fear flashed behind his dark eyes.  
"Who are you?"  
Harry smiled. "A man who can destroy you in the blink of an eye. At my death the authorities will receive a dossier detailing everything about your life – where your money is hidden, your safe houses, even your favourite whores. There will be nowhere to hide."  
The assassin wavered, unsure whether to believe the Englishman. There was a look in those eyes, however, hard and merciless, that persuaded him that it was no idle threat. He took another step back and lowered the rifle fractionally.  
"Who are you?" he asked again, sounding confused.  
Harry got to his feet slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. He looked across the plateau below them, his eyes tracking over the men milling around the two dead bodies, to the ocean beyond and when he answered his voice was hoarse and weary. "I am the man that hired you to kill two sworn enemies. You have delivered, and I will keep my promise. As long as I'm alive, your secret is safe."

The two men stood, perched on the cliff, and measured each other. The Serpent eventually nodded and lowered the rifle to his side.  
Harry silently let out a relieved breath and stepped past the other man.  
"One more thing," he said and turned back to look at the assassin. "Don't ever do any work in England. If you do, our deal is void."  
With that, he strode down the twisting path and out of sight. And with every step he took, his resolve strengthened: he would not intentionally be responsible for any more deaths. He was done. Johnny Marks and Tessa would be the last.

- 0 –

_Next day  
Santiago, Chile_

Ruth stood under the shower, lost in thought. They had come straight to Zoe's house after the helicopter had dropped them off at an US Air Force airstrip high in the mountains, ostensibly used for drug patrols. From there they had been given a lift to Santiago in an army transport plane and during this flight Tom had brought Ruth up to speed with everything that had happened since her 'death'. She was in a sombre mood as she washed her hair yet again, feeling the weight of all that had happened with Harry and herself in recent times. When she closed her eyes she once again saw the two bodies lying motionless in the dust – Harry's doing, she now knew. Add to that the Russian Levrov… So many people dead, to avenge what had been done to her. _We take care of our own_, Harry had apparently told Tom when he'd asked him to kill the Russian. She was sick of it – the death, the killing, the darkness. Eternally grateful that Harry had come for her, but sick of everything else. In the three months she had spent in that cell, it had been thoughts of Harry that had sustained her, that had kept her sane. With so much time to think and analyse, she could not help but evaluate every second of time she had spent with him, and to weigh every decision and dark deed she knew him to be responsible for. And in the end it came down to this: he did the best he could in the immoral world they inhabited, and he had sacrificed himself without hesitation to save her when she had been in trouble. Twice he had been willing to risk losing everything that was important to him for her sake, and she finally understood the implications of these gestures – she was more important to him than his job.

The realisation had stunned her; in her mind Harry had always been his job. He was the man on the wall and she had believed, deep down, that this role was the most important thing in the world to him. Even if they succeeded in forging a life together, it would be with the knowledge that she would always come second to duty. Or so she had believed. But then he'd given up everything for her, twice, and she had finally realised. When it came down to a stark choice between her and the Service, he had chosen her every time. Without hesitation. The thought still brought tears to her eyes, and made her decision about the future easy. She wanted a life with him, but it had to be away from all that they had known before. There would be no more living in the shadows, always looking over one's shoulder for the return of an old enemy, or continually making new ones. There should be no more impossible decisions to make, or choices between love and duty. Because she also knew from personal experience that such choices were not made without exacting a high price from the person who had to make them. Sooner or later it would destroy that person, and she didn't want that for either of them. That was her line in the sand, and she hoped with all her heart that Harry would be willing to cross over to her side of that line.

- 0 –

_Late afternoon, same day_

Harry was nervous. As eager as he was to see her, to touch her again and feel her warm skin under his fingers as a final affirmation that she was alive and well, the closer he came to Zoe's house, the more nervous he became. Long stretches of incarceration could do strange things to the mind; what if she had used the time to think about all that had befallen her since she had known him, and decided that she wanted to be as far away from him as possible? Perhaps Marks and Tessa had poisoned her against him – that was the sort of thing one did to captives to break them. The honest truth was that he simply did not know what to expect. There was one thing he knew without doubt, though: Should Ruth reject him, his heart would never heal again.

Malcolm glanced sideways as Harry sighed heavily, and noted how white his knuckles were on the wheel. There was nothing he could say; they had never been given to feeble platitudes and he was not about to start now. He couldn't begin to imagine what Harry was going through, so he kept his counsel and sat quietly, watching the houses slide by. Eventually the car slowed down and Harry pulled up before a house.  
"This is it," he announced unnecessarily, nervously.  
They got out and pushed through the squeaky gate, and then the door opened and she was there.  
Ruth.  
She stood in the door and watched them, her face a mixture of joy and apprehension. Harry froze, his left hand still on the gate, and simply stared at her. Malcolm hesitated, and then strode forward quickly until he was stood next to her.  
"Ruth," he said with a delighted smile, and she tore her gaze from Harry and smiled back at him.  
"Hello Malcolm."  
He was overjoyed to see her and there was much to discuss, but now was not the time. Malcolm was acutely aware of the man behind him, and of the way Ruth's eyes kept flicking to him, so he pressed a kiss to her cheek and said brightly, "We'll talk later."  
He was not entirely sure she even heard him, and stepped around her and into the house without further delay. He left Ruth and Harry staring at each other across the front yard, both paralysed by the momentousness of the occasion, too afraid to move for fear that the spell would be broken and that the other would disappear.

_tbc_


	10. Chapter 10

_Santiago, Chile_

Ruth was rooted to the spot, just outside the door. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears as she stared at Harry, greedily drinking in every detail of his appearance. He'd lost weight and there were a few more worry lines than she remembered, she noticed with a lurch of the heart. But the brown eyes still burned for her, and once she met their intense gaze she couldn't look away. In that gaze was everything he felt for her; he made no effort to hide it. She was only vaguely aware that he began to move forward, and was even more surprised when she met him halfway, her feet moving of their own accord. Up close she could see just how nervous he was, and it dispelled the butterflies in her own stomach. It was _Harry_ standing in front of her, real and not imagined. In the flesh. She expelled a batch of air, half-sob, half-laugh and reached out to touch his hand. Tears welled in his eyes the moment her skin made contact with his, and then his fingers wrapped around hers and squeezed.  
"Ruth," he murmured in wonderment, looking somewhat shell-shocked.  
"Harry," she said, her voice shaking. "You're really here."  
He took a few deep breaths in an attempt to quell the overwhelming emotion flooding through him.  
"_Ruth_," he said again, years' worth of yearning and the torment of the last three months encapsulated in her name, his thumb stroking over the back of her hand.  
They stood staring at each other, lost for words, until Harry cleared his throat and asked, "Are you all right?"  
"Yes," she smiled, her free hand automatically going to her left side. "The stab wound healed well and Marks never touched me."  
"You've been seen by a doctor?" he insisted, and she understood what he was doing: seeking refuge in practicalities. It's what they'd always done.  
She began to shake her head and anger immediately flared in his eyes. "I _told_ Tom, for God's sake-"  
"Harry."  
The soft utterance of his name stopped his diatribe in its tracks and he looked at her. She could see his all-consuming fear that he would lose her again, and finally appreciated what he must have lived through these last three months, thinking her dead. They had each, in their different ways, been through hell.  
"I don't need to see a doctor. Really."

He searched her face for any flicker of evasion but found none, and closed his eyes in relief. When he opened them again, they were filled with anguish.  
"I thought you were dead," he blurted, "otherwise I would have come for you sooner."  
"I know, Harry. Tom explained everything," she assured him, and he relaxed a fraction.  
His right hand rose towards her face, but before his fingers could touch her cheek he was overcome by reticence, and his hand dropped away again. The uncertainty in his eyes pierced her heart, and she murmured, "Harry…", filling his name with the boundless love she felt for him.  
It gave him the courage he needed, and he said, "Do you remember what we talked about before Sasha stabbed you?"  
Ruth blinked in surprise at the sudden conversation shift; she wasn't sure what she had expected him to say, but that wasn't it.  
"I do," she responded cautiously. "I asked you to leave the Service, with me."  
Harry nodded solemnly, his eyes never leaving her face. "And I agreed," he said. His hand slid up her arm as he added, "That hasn't changed, if the offer still stands…"  
He petered out uncertainly when she didn't react immediately, worried that his worst fears had been realised. But then a wonderful smile blossomed on her face and she nodded, too overcome to speak, and Harry let go of his self-control. He pulled her into a tight embrace and buried his face in her hair, and finally let himself _feel_ for the first time in years. She clutched at him and pressed herself against him, wanting to get inside his skin if possible. He sighed into her hair, perhaps another whisper of her name, perhaps a declaration of love, but she wasn't sure and it didn't really matter. He was here, he was solid and warm and he held her like he never intended to let her go again, and she was just fine with that. Long minutes passed as they held each other, learnt for the first time the feel of the other's body, and marvelled in the fact that they had been granted yet another chance. Harry pulled away, his face alight with joy and love as he leant in and kissed her gently on the lips.  
And then he said, "Let's go home."

- 0 –

_One week later  
Thames House, London_

It was Harry's last day on the Grid, and Ruth had accompanied him for moral support. She understood how hard this was for him – that no matter how much he loved her and wanted to build a life with her, the Service had been his whole world for most of his adult life. It had shaped him and was ingrained in every fibre of his being, and she knew that he was struggling to envision his future without its demands and rewards. She waited outside on the Grid, chatting with Erin, Calum and Dimitri whilst he went into his office to clear his desk. In truth, though, she didn't take in a single word they said. Her total focus was on the man in the office. She watched as he sat down behind his desk for the last time. He sat immobile, his eyes wandering over every object in the office and then to the Grid beyond. She suspected that he wasn't really seeing what was before him, but was remembering all the officers who had once walked this floor and had been sacrificed to the cause. He breathed deeply and she had to blink away tears, right there with him in her mind's eye. Eventually Harry shook himself and began to clear his desk, and her thoughts drifted to the developments of the last week.

Things had moved swiftly since the standoff in the Andes. They had flown home together with Tom and Malcolm, and the Home Secretary had awaited them on their arrival. He had spontaneously enveloped Ruth in a hug and had clapped Harry on the back before handing over a set of keys to Ruth.  
"For your cottage in Suffolk," he had explained.  
Ruth had looked between Harry and Towers in confusion. "But… I never got a chance to buy it."  
"Harry asked me to purchase it on your behalf as soon as he knew you were alive," Towers had explained.  
Ruth had been moved beyond words by the gesture, before reality had set in. "Harry," she'd murmured, "I'm not sure we can afford it. Neither of us will have a job come next week."  
He had smiled softly, lovingly at her. "We can sell my house," he'd offered, before Malcolm had cleared his throat to draw their attention.  
"Actually, you _can_ afford it," he had told them smugly.  
Everyone had looked at him, waiting for an explanation, and Malcolm had obliged. "I transferred the money that was left in Marks' account into Harry's."  
After a stunned silence, Harry had shaken his head. "We can't take it, Malcolm. Marks stole that money from the state."  
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Towers had grumbled affectionately. "Take the damn money, Harry. See it as a generous bonus, a thank you from your country for a job well done. God knows you deserve it. Both of you."

Ruth smiled at the recollection; Towers had refused to take no for an answer and in the end they had to give in. Which is how they came to own a cottage in Suffolk, Harry's house in London and almost five million pounds in the bank. They had subsequently decided to move to the cottage, but there was something they wanted to do first. Her eyes lifted back to Harry and met his, and the soft look in them made her wonder whether he was thinking about their immediate future as well – their planned trip to the great capitals of Europe. Her heart melted when she thought back to his bashful expression when he'd asked whether she wanted to join him on the Grand Tour he'd dreamed of for so long.  
Before she'd had a chance to answer, he'd said out of the blue, "We could get married in Paris?" before hastening to add, "That is if you'd like to, of course. Marry me, I mean. Oh, shag…"  
She'd laughed and wrapped her arms around him. "I'd love to join you on the Grand Tour. And to marry you," she'd said and had pretended not to notice his glistening eyes when he'd kissed her.

Now their gazes held across the expanse of the Grid, he ensconced in his glass tower, and she perched on her old desk, and it brought back untold memories of the moments they had shared in this place. She thought about wrestling with lamps, tea spills and preparing for interviews; about chocolates as a birthday present and scratches on floors. She remembered cricketing expressions and comments about that time of the month, and nervous dinner invitations accompanied by impromptu Chaplin impersonations. Not to mention the many late nights when it had only been the two of them, content to be in the same workspace, eager to breathe the same air for a little while longer. Yes, they had experienced untold heartache within these walls, but it had also brought them together, and there were many things she would remember fondly. Harry smiled at her, a genuine smile, and in that moment she knew; he would be all right – _they_ would be all right. The future would take care of itself.

Harry stood and gathered the box with his belongings in his arms. The conversation out on the Grid died down immediately, and Ruth realised that hers wasn't the only attention that had been focussed elsewhere. They all stood as he walked towards them, and there was an awkward pause before Harry said, "That's the lot, I think." He put the box down on a nearby desk and Ruth noticed the bottle of Ardbeg with amusement. Harry was not about to donate his precious whisky to his successor, apparently.  
He looked at each of them for a moment, and nodded almost to himself. "I leave this place in safe hands," he declared. "Keep up the good work, and don't let the politicians have it all their own way."  
Erin laughed and shook his hand. "I'll do my best, Harry. I'll strive to be more like you," she added, only partly in jest.  
But he shook his head emphatically. "No. Follow your own conscience, and you'll be fine. If you don't, the job will eat you alive."  
He turned to Dimitri and the younger officer gripped his hand firmly. "It's been an honour, Harry. Don't do too much gardening, eh?"  
Harry laughed. "I won't."  
Calum didn't wait for a handshake, but stepped forward and hugged Harry hard. "Goodbye, you magnificent bastard," he said, making the others smile, and Harry nodded, for once in his life lost for words.  
Ruth moved forward and said her own goodbyes, and they left the Grid for the last time, side by side.

- 0 -

Outside Thames House Harry stowed his belongings in the car and suggested, "Let's go for a walk."  
They wandered to the river, arm in arm, each lost in their own thoughts.  
"You okay?" Ruth asked with a squeeze of his arm, and he looked at her.  
"Yes," he said firmly as he leant in to press a kiss to her temple. "It's time. I've had enough of death."  
He watched the river for a moment, and she got the impression that he was gathering his courage to tell her something important.  
"I thought I'd look into joining SSAFA Forces Help," he said somewhat hesitantly. "Use my skills towards a good cause."  
He watched her anxiously, worried that she might not approve. "I know it won't bring in any money, but I don't want to sit around watching daytime television until I become a feeble-minded couch potato-"  
She shushed him with a hand to his mouth. "I think it's a terrific idea, Harry. They have an office in Suffolk, not far from the cottage. Besides, I don't think we need to worry about money."  
It took a moment for the realisation to set in and Harry grinned sheepishly. "No, I guess not."  
They walked in contented silence for a while before he spoke again. "I hear the local university has a respected Classics programme," he prodded with a raised eyebrow, and she smiled guiltily.  
"I've already sent them my CV and received an enthusiastic response. I was going to tell you later."  
He enveloped her in a hug. "That's wonderful, Ruth."  
They stood in their embrace, revelling in the fact that they could finally hold each other whenever they wanted, until Harry pulled back slightly and asked meaningfully, "To Paris then?"  
Ruth lifted a hand to his cheek as her love for him surged through her, and said happily, "Yes, Harry. To Paris."

- X –

_Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.  
**- Winston Churchill**_

_Fin_

_A/N: Dear Readers, I have greatly enjoyed reading all your comments. Thank you for the kind and sometimes highly amusing reviews!  
_


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